T  •  B  ARROW 


BY-  VIOLA  MEYNELL 


LOT     BARROW 


LOT    BAEEOW 


BY   VIOLA    MEYNELL 


RICHARD  G.    BADGER 

THE  GORHAM  PRESS 
BOSTON 


FIRST  PUBLISHED,   1913 


The  Weitmintter  Prett,  411a  Harrow  Road,  London,  W. 


DEDICATED  TO 
MY  MOTHER 


2137172   ' 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

1  THE  FIRST  NIGHT  1 

2  LOT  STOPS  THE  'BUS  11 

3  PARTIAL  CONFIDENCES  21 

4  THE  SIGH  35 

5  HUSBAND  AND  WIFE  40 

6  ALIENS  44 

7  THE  BROKEN  FLOWERS  60 

8  JENNIE  TO  THE  CAT  64 

9  THUNDER  AND  LIGHTNING  70 

10  ROUND  THE  FIELD  82 

11  BETTER  THAN  TO  BE  UNHAPPY     91 

12  MARJORIE  CRIES  95 

13  THE  POST  105 

14  THE  STEP  IN  THE  PASSAGE  114 

15  HUMPHREY'S  FIST  123 

16  LOT'S  TALE  132 

17  A  NICE  PIECE  OF  FUR  140 

18  MEMORY  COTTAGE  145 

19  THROUGH  FIELDS  156 

20  LOT'S  SHOES  170 

21  DISSOCIATION  178 

22  "LOT  THE  RUNNER"  187 

23  LOT  IN  THE  EASY-CHAIR  203 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

24  HOUSE  PROPERTY  217 

25  NICE  MANNERS  229 

26  BY  THE  OCEAN  235 

27  THE  HOSTESS  244 

28  BY  THE  FIRE  252 

29  THE  LAMP  GOES  OUT  263 

30  BREAK  OF  DAY  270 

31  LOT  LOOKS  OUT  OF  THE  WINDOW  280 


CHAPTER  ONE:    THE  FIRST  NIGHT 

WHEN  Mr.  Child  came  into  the  house 
at  dusk  he  found  his  wife  alone 
in  the  kitchen. 

"  The  new  girl  come  yet  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Child,  in  a  cautious 
whisper.  "  And  for  a  young  girl  with  a 
history  like  hers  behind  her,  she  came  in 
with  an  air  of  great  assurance." 

"  Well,  she  won't  come  lording  it  here," 
said  Mr.  Child,  with  one  of  his  tremendous 
yawns,  as  he  stooped  to  turn  his  trousers 
higher  up.  To  his  wife's  confidential  tones 
he  usually  replied  in  a  particularly  emphatic 
voice,  saying,  if  she  remonstrated :  "It 
won't  harm  any  one  to  overhear  the  truth." 

"  She  wasn't  cast  down,  as  I  expected," 
said  Mrs.  Child.  "  When  I  went  to  the 
door  I  said :  *  Good  afternoon ;  walk 
inside.'  She  said  :  4  Good  afternoon,  Mrs. 
Child ;  how  glad  I  am  to  be  here  at  last.' 
She  said :  '  I  do  hope  we  shall  get  on.' 
'  We're  all  hard  workers  here,'  I  said. 
'  It  doesn't  leave  us  much  time  to  quarrel.5 
She's  one  of  those  big,  strapping  girls  with 
a  pretty  face." 

"  Has  Humphrey  been  inside  ?  " 


LOT  BARROW 

"  He  was  in  and  out  again.  Have  you 
finished  before  tea  ?  " 

"  Good  Lord,  no.  It'll  take  me  another 
twenty  minutes  before  I'm  finished."  He 
went  out  into  the  yard.  Mrs.  Child  had 
been  peeling  potatoes,  and  now  she  carried 
her  saucepanful  over  to  the  fire.  She 
walked  with  a  bad  limp — so  bad  that  until 
you  got  used  to  it  you  thought  that  at  each 
step  she  would  fall. 

Someone  was  walking  slowly  towards 
the  kitchen.  Mrs.  Child  turned  round  from 
the  fire  and  saw  Charlotte  Barrow  standing 
in  the  doorway.  She  had  lost  that  air  of 
assurance  now.  She  still  had  on  the  best 
dress  she  had  travelled  in,  but  it  was  almost 
covered  by  a  holland  apron.  She  wore  a 
gold  bracelet,  and  she  had  the  habit  of 
giving  to  the  arm  with  the  bracelet  a  little 
self-conscious  prominence.  But  there  was 
nothing  self-conscious  in  her  face,  which 
was  very  beautiful.  Mrs.  Child  was  even 
a  little  startled  to  see  her  now  without  her 
hat,  because  her  black  hair  and  pale  skin 
made  a  noticeable  effect  of  colour.  The 
hair  was  of  a  heavy,  lax  kind,  which  hung 
closely  to  the  shape  of  her  head. 

*  You'll  put  me  to  some  work,  won't 
you  ?  "  she  said.  "  And  I  thought  I'd  teU 
you  I'm  always  called  Lot." 


THE  FIRST  NIGHT 

"  There's  plenty  of  work,"  said  Mrs. 
Child.  "  I  thought  you  might  like  to  be 
quiet  just  at  first,  and  set  out  your  things." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Lot ;  "  I  feel  I'd 
rather  be  with  you." 

"  Ah,  you're  a  bit  homesick,"  said  Mrs. 
Child.  '  'You  would  be,  the  first  night  or  two. " 

"  I  was  so  glad  you'd  have  me,  and  so 
anxious  to  be  off,"  said  Lot,  "  and  now  I 
can't  help  feeling  strange." 

"  Well,  I  thought  I'd  have  you,  and  I 
thought  I  wouldn't.  It's  been  my  sole 
plan  to  have  someone  as  I  know  is  a  good 
worker  and  knows  the  work.  But  my  sister 
wrote  you  were  in  such  trouble — it  kind 
of  takes  hold  of  me  when  I  hear  anybody 
wants  help,  and  I  can't  rest  until  I've  done 
my  best." 

Lot  began  mechanically  to  deal  with  the 
potato-skins,  but  she  was  obviously  think- 
ing of  something  else. 

"  I  suppose  Mr.  Child  knows  every- 
thing ?  "  she  said,  at  once  impressively  and 
frightenedly. 

"  I  never  act  without  him,"  said  Mrs. 
Child. 

"  But  not  anyone  else  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed.  I  don't  go  about  making 
repetitions." 

"It's   only   just   that   I   want   to   start 


LOT  BARROW 

fresh,"  said  Lot,  nervously.  She  was  grateful 
for  Mrs.  Child's  sturdy  practical  kindness, 
and  }^et  she  longed  for  some  more  personal 
sign  of  good  feeling  and  understanding 
and  sympathy.  She  had  counted  so  much 
on  that.  A  kiss  would  almost  have  broken 
her  heart  with  -happiness  and  gratitude 
that  evening.  She  was  a  little  hopeful 
to  think  of  the  coming  of  the  husband  and 
the  son.  Perhaps  they  would  all  grow 
merry  and  intimate  over  their  tea.  Perhaps 
then  they  would  all  look  at  her  as  though 
they  liked  her. 

But  Humphrey  Child,  the  son,  came  in 
with  a  slight  scowl  on  his  face.  It  was  a 
common  thing  with  him  to  lose  temper 
just  before  meal-times,  from  an  excessive 
hunger.  He  was  a  strong  and  fine-looking 
young  man,  evidently  indifferent  as  to 
what  impression  he  should  make.  He  put 
down  a  pail  with  a  clatter  on  the  brick  floor 
of  the  kitchen,  and  there  was  another 
jarring  noise  when  he  let  go  the  loose  handle 
and  it  fell  against  the  side  of  the  pail. 
'  Here's  Lot  Barrow,"  said  his  mother. 

"  Good  evening.  Hurry  up,  mother.  I'll 
no  sooner  take  my  tea  than  I'm  off  to  bed  ; 
it's  a  dead-and-alive  evening." 

'  You'll  never  play  a  game  of  cards  with 
your  father  now,"  said  Mrs.  Child,  in  a  low 


THE  FIRST  NIGHT 

voice.  "  You'll  be  up  in  the  dark  in  the 
mornings,  but  your  father  may  spend  his 
evenings  alone." 

"  I  can't  lie  abed  in  the  mornings,"  said 
Humphrey,  impatiently  ;  "  and  of  evenings 
I  can't  keep  awake.  It's  how  I'm  made." 

"  Lot,  do  step  out  into  the  yard — where 
I  showed  you — and  speak  to  Mr.  Child. 
Tell  him  his  tea's  ready." 

Lot  went  out  into  the  darkness,  and  saw 
a  lantern  moving  ahead.  She  stepped  slowly 
and  carefully  towards  it.  She  had  given 
up  hope  of  finding  a  congenial  or  admiring 
companion  in  Humphrey  Child,  and  she 
had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  she  could 
never  be  anything  but  afraid  of  Mrs. 
Child.  There  was  now  one  left  to  whom 
she  looked  for  the  chance  of  some  more 
personal  relationship. 

The  lantern  was  some  distance  away, 
but  seemed  to  be  jogging  towards  her. 
She  did  not  hurry,  only  sauntering  along  on 
the  uncertain  ground,  and  occasionally 
standing  still  altogether.  She  could  look 
right  away  over  the  yard-door  to  where  a 
pale  night  sky  was  cut  by  the  long,  dark 
downs.  She  wished  herself  on  those  lonely 
hills  ;  on  just  such  hills  as  those  she  had 
walked  at  night,  in  darkness  or  moonlight, 
quite  at  peace.  Now  the  evening  sky  was 


LOT  BARROW 

wind-swept  and  still  too  bright  for  stars  ; 
but  there  was  one  blazing  planet  which 
barely  topped  the  downs.  It  shone  at  the 
very  brim,  and  soon  dropped  behind. 

The  lantern-bearer  was  now  very  near  her, 
and  she  walked  towards  him.  Her  longing 
to  have  found  a  friend  made  her  tremulous. 

"  Mrs.  Child  asked  me — I've  come  to " 

she  stammered. 

"  Mrs.  Child  asked  you — you've  come 
to—  "  imitated  Mr.  Child.  "  Come  along, 
girl,  let's  have  it !  " 

"It's  tea,"  said  Lot  heavily. 

Mrs.  Child  was  a  woman  very  much 
afflicted  in  her  body.  She  never  sat  down 
to  meals  with  her  husband  and  son,  taking 
at  odd  times  during  the  day  the  tea  and 
gruel  which  kept  her  alive.  She  hovered 
over  the  table,  attending  to  their  wants 
with  the  most  particular  attention,  and  her 
distinguished  face,  in  spite  of  being  care- 
worn and  deeply  lined,  had  the  peaceful 
homely  look  of  domestic  happiness. 

But  there  was  something  more  than  peace 
on  her  face — there  was  distinct  amusement 
and  anticipation — when  she  set  out  for 
one  of  the  sitting-rooms,  carrying  there  a 
meal  which  she  had  cooked  with  utmost  care. 

"  Come  along,  mother,"  said  Mr.  Child, 
when  she  returned,  after  a  rather  lengthy 

6 


THE  FIRST  NIGHT 

absence ;  "  when  you've  finished  flirting 
with  your  young  man  I'll  have  another  cup 
of  tea."  He  had  not  allowed  Lot  to  pour 
it  out  for  him. 

Mrs.  Child  poured  out  the  tea,  and  told 
what  had  passed  in  the  sitting-room. 

"  He  said  :  '  What's  for  dinner  ?  '  I  said, 
'  Bread  and  a  worm,  sir,  for  a  change.' 
'  You've  told  me  that  before.  I'll  never 
grow  fat  on  that,  Mrs.  Child,'  he  said." 

Mr.  Child  sucked  his  teeth  noisily.  He 
was  at  the  end  of  his  meal.  While  he  was 
being  spoken  to  he  rarely  made  any  sign 
that  he  heard.  But  after  a  slight  pause  he 
would  say  something  which  bore  on  the 
point. 

"  Ah,  well,  mother,  you  see  you  must 
think  of  something  new." 

It  was  eight  o'clock,  and  Humphrey 
Child  went  straight  to  bed.  His  father, 
still  making  the  wonderful  noises,  pushed 
back  his  chair  and  read  the  daily  paper, 
while  Lot  washed  up  the  tea  things,  and  Mrs. 
Child  dried  them. 

"  The  strike's  spreading,  I'm  told,"  said 
Mr.  Child.  He  always  took  the  daily  paper's 
communications  in  this  very  personal 
manner. 

"  Have  you  heard  the  latest  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
Child. 


LOT  BARROW 

"  I  don't  know  if  I  have  or  I  haven't." 
"  Well,  we  wives  is  going  on  strike." 
Mr.  Child  chuckled  with  pleasure.  "What's 
wrong  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Less  work,  more  pay,"  said  his  wife. 
"  No  conciliations  granted.     General  lock- 
out, and  new  hands  taken  on,"  said  Mr. 
Child. 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  new  wives  by  that." 

"  You've  guessed  right  first  time,  my  girl." 

"  Why,   you   don't   suppose   you'd   find 

anyone  else  so  silly  as  to  make  my  mistake, 

do  you,  my  man  ?  " 

"  Well,  of  course  I  can  only  judge  by 
experience,"  said  Mr.  Child.  "  I  know 
you  was  ready  enough." 

"  Listen  to  that !  "  said  Mrs.  Child, 
addressing  herself  to  the  ceiling.  "  As  if  he 
didn't  have  to  go  down  on  his  bended  knee ! " 
They  all  went  up  to  bed  together,  having 
made  the  doors  fast  and  put  out  the  lights, 
except  the  light  that  shone  under  the 
sitting-room  door,  where  Mr.  Bravery, 
lodging  at  the  farm,  sat  at  work.  They 
went  up  past  the  first  floor,  where  Mr. 
Bravery  slept,  to  the  large,  airy  attics  in  the 
roof,  and  the  husband  and  wife  wished 
Lot  good-night  in  their  simple,  undemon- 
strative way,  and  they  lit  their  candles 
and  closed  the  doors. 

8 


THE  FIRST  NIGHT 

Lot  had  never  left  her  home  before,  and 
she  was  fully  aware  of  the  strangeness  and 
loneliness  of  her  position.  But  her  face 
now  had  a  look  singularly  impassive — 
as  if  she  failed  in  sympathy  towards  herself 
for  her  own  misfortunes. 

She  could  plainly  hear  the  murmur  of 
voices  through  the  wall ;  she  heard  them 
grow  intermittent  and  cease  altogether, 
and  by  that  time  she  herself  had  blown  out 
her  light  and  lay  in  her  fresh  cold  bed. 
It  was  very  still  then,  and  she  did  not  stir 
or  make  a  noise. 

Soon  across  the  utter  stillness  there  came 
the  sound  of  a  distant  train — the  only 
thing  in  all  that  night  with  movement  and 
a  purpose  and  a  voice.  It  grew  loud  or 
hushed,  as  the  line  turned,  and  once  it 
screamed.  And  then  there  was  the  utter 
stillness  again,  but  not  for  long. 

Mr.  Child  began  to  snore  in  a  fairly 
peaceable  way,  but  every  breath  he  took 
was  a  louder  advance  towards  some  terrific, 
unthinkable  crisis.  With  what  apprehen- 
sion Lot  followed  that  steady  increase  of 
volume,  and  with  what  a  stress  of  attention 
she  awaited  the  climax  which,  as  it  seemed 
to  her  in  the  contrasted  silence  of  the 
night,  must  consist  of  nothing  else  but  the 
bursting  of  Mr.  Child's  head  !  She  had  a 

9 


LOT  BARROW 

nightmare  vision  of  a  disfeatured  face  and 
scattered  members  on  a  pale,  fat  pillow. 
And  then  the  climax  indeed  came ;  but  by 
the  intervention  of  providence,  apparently, 
Mr.  Child  escaped  with  a  whole  head,  for 
very  soon  he  started  again  with  a  humble, 
inoffensive  sound,  which,  however,  after 
the  first  two  or  three  times,  never  deceived 
Lot  with  its  wiles. 

The  sounds  compelled  Lot's  attention, 
especially  at  an  impending  crisis.  She 
almost  felt  that  to  withdraw  her  notice 
would  be  to  condemn  Mr.  Child  to  a  burst 
head,  as  if  it  were  her  unfailing  attention 
that  held  him  together. 

And  yet  that  strange  impassivity  had  a 
hold  on  her  still.  She  was  coldly  indifferent 
to  her  small  hardships.  A  little  tenderness 
in  the  midst  of  loneliness  would  have  made 
her  tempestuously  happy,  but  to-night  she 
did  not  actively  mourn  the  absence  of 
tenderness,  or  her  solitary  state,  or  her 
wakefulness.  And  the  reason  is  not  a 
happy  one  to  tell. 

There  was  the  memory  of  far  greater 
griefs  close  upon  her — griefs  lurking  in  a 
cruel  past ;  and  her  heart  was  not  free  for 
little  lamentations.  She  would  have  liked 
to  be  able  to  grieve  over  little  things — but 
her  heart  was  dreadfully  cold  to  them. 

10 


CHAPTER  TWO:  LOT  STOPS  THE  'BUS 

WIGGONHOLT  FARM  stood  a  little 
way  outside  the  village,  and  four 
times  a  day  there  passed  the  vehicle 
which  met  the  trains  at  the  station, 
two  and  a  half  miles  awaj7".  It  was  called, 
by  everyone,  the  'bus.  Though  it  was  the 
private  enterprise  of  Mr.  Green,  the  con- 
fectioner, it  made  an  official  kind  of  start 
from  outside  the  Wheatsheaves,  where  it 
loitered  for  ten  minutes  or  so,  to  take  up 
any  stray  passenger.  In  summer  the  'bus 
was  a  little  open  wagonette,  with  navy-blue 
buttoned  seats,  and  a  door  behind  with  an 
obstinate  fastening — the  whole  grown  some- 
what shabby.  In  the  winter  it  was  a  little 
old  Noah's  ark  on  wheels — rambling, 
colourless,  rusty.  It  had  an  arched  roof, 
and  it  was  indescribably  narrow.  If  there 
were  only  two  passengers  in  the  'bus,  one 
on  each  side,  they  could  put  their  knees 
slant-ways,  and  discuss  the  weather  and  the 
price  of  coal,  or  (a  different  class)  the  new 
piece  at  the  Lewington  theatre,  with  perfect 
ease.  But  when  there  were  two  people 
on  each  side,  then  pressing  contact  of  knees 

11 


LOT  BARROW 

was  unavoidable  and  embarrassing,  and  the 
travellers  gazed  with  rigid  absorption  out 
of  the  little  square  pane  opposite  to  them, 
which  was  often  misted  and  noisy  with 
driving  rain.  The  coming  and  going  of  the 
'bus  was  an  event  all  over  the  village,  but 
especially,  perhaps,  was  it  watched  for  at 
Wiggonholt  Farm.  At  the  farm  they  were 
just  a  little  outside  the  centre  of  village 
activity  ;  they  did  not  see  many  happenings 
from  their  windows.  Expectancy  of  the 
'bus  often  made  a  reason  to  look  up  at  the 
clock  and  comment  on  the  time,  with  that 
valuable  feeling  that  the  hour  was  a  matter 
of  importance,  in  its  relation  to  something 
imminent.  Mrs.  Child's  comfortable  arm- 
chair was  always  placed,  summer  and  winter, 
in  such  a  way  that  she  could  command  a 
view  of  a  piece  of  the  road.  Four  times  a 
day  Mrs.  Child  saw  the  top  of  the  driver's 
head  and  the  heads  of  any  passengers  there 
might  be  (or  in  winter  only  the  driver's 
head  and  a  curved,  scratched  roof)  for  five 
or  six  seconds  as  they  just  topped  the 
hedge  that  ran  between  her  and  the  road. 
Four  times  a  day  there  was  one  precious 
moment,  when  Mrs.  Child  took  in  the 
whole  'bus  in  the  valuable  little  clear  space 
between  the  abrupt  hedge  and  the  sharp 
turn  of  the  road.  Headgear  and  faces  and 

12 


LOT  STOPS  THE  'BUS 

tantalising  glimpses  of  lace  collars  or 
bodices  could  be  seen  over  the  hedge,  and 
then  there  was  that  all  too  brief  moment 
in  which  so  much  had  to  be  discovered  and 
reconciled — faces  joined  to  bodices,  bodices 
to  skirts,  and  children  and  parcels,  perhaps, 
perceived  for  the  first  time. 

The  passing  of  the  'bus,  it  will  be  seen, 
was  a  swift,  momentous  affair,  and  unless 
you  are  alert  and  watchful,  this  pleasing 
little  incident  in  the  day  might  as  well  not 
exist  so  far  as  you  are  concerned.  Any 
lazy,  inaccurate  surmising  as  to  whether 
the  'bus  is  not  about  due  is  pure  folly  : 
perhaps  it  has  passed  only  this  minute  ago, 
but  you  cannot  see  it  now  ;  the  few  brief 
moments  are  gone.  The  road  and  hedge 
tell  no  tale ;  they  appear  precisely  the 
same  after  as  before. 

Every  five  or  six  weeks  the  morning  'bus 
was  hailed  outside  Wiggonholt  Farm  by 
someone  who  had  been  stationed  there 
for  a  good  twenty  minutes  to  perform  the 
important  task.  These  were  the  occasions 
of  Mrs.  Child's  obligatory  visits  to  a  London 
hospital.  She  received  her  treatment,  slept 
the  night  with  a  friend,  and  returned  the 
next  morning  with  a  new  lease  of  life. 

When,  not  long  after  she  had  come  to  the 
farm,  Lot  heard  of  the  impending  absence, 

13 


LOT  BARROW 

and  learned  that  it  was  a  periodical  affair, 
it  seemed  to  her  too  good  to  be  true  that  she 
should  be  relieved  so  frequently  from  the 
awe-inspiring  presence  of  Mrs.  Child.  Just 
a  little  while  after  her  arrival  at  Wiggonholt 
Farm,  she  was  sent  out  to  the  gate  one 
morning  to  hail  the  'bus,  while  inside  the 
house  Mrs.  Child  was  transforming  herself 
into  that  hatted  and  coated  person  who 
looked  unfamiliar  even  to  her  husband. 
This  hat  and  coat  were  used  only  for  the 
London  visits  :  Mrs.  Child  otherwise  rarely 
left  the  farm,  not  holding  with  church. 

Lot  stood  at  the  gate  and  looked  across 
the  road  on  to  the  village  green,  where  the 
impressions  of  horses'  hoofs  were  filled  with 
rain  and  reflected  the  very  bright  light  of 
the  spring  morning.  The  gusts  of  wind 
which  blew  on  her  were  wonderfully  cool 
and  clean  from  the  sea — not  that  sea  which 
lay  due  south  five  miles  away,  but  the  sea 
which,  a  little  farther  on,  had  crept  into 
the  coast  so  far  that  it  was  breathed  by 
these  villagers  when  they  breathed  their 
west  winds.  To  one  side  of  the  green 
Lot  could  see  the  red  roofs  of  the  village. 
She  swung  her  hands  lazily  to  and  fro, 
clapping  them  first  in  front  and  then  be- 
hind, to  warm  them.  She  was  tall  enough 
to  prevent  a  certain  thickness  of  figure 

14 


LOT  STOPS  THE  'BUS 

from  being  ungainly,  and  her  face  was  as 
beautiful  and  glowing  as  anything  in  that 
glowing  day. 

This  expedition  of  Mrs.  Child's  had  been 
so  placidly  spoken  of,  so  carelessly  put  off 
from  one  day  to  another  (as  if  to  Lot  it 
was  not  the  most  important  thing  in  the 
world  whether  she  should  go  to-day  or 
to-morrow  !)  that  Lot  had  been  in  a  fever 
of  suppressed  excitement  and  irritation. 

Strangely  and  unfortunately  antagonistic, 
these  two  women  were.  Had  they  been 
neither  better  nor  w^orse,  but  only  slightly 
different,  there  might  have  been  strong 
liking  between  them.  As  it  was,  Mrs. 
Child  had  fallen  into  the  habit  of  a  rather 
overbearing  and  scornful  manner  (it  was  a 
pity  Lot  had  arrived  when  a  visit  to  the 
hospital  was  due — a  time  when  Mrs.  Child's 
temper,  in  company  with  her  physical 
endurance,  was  at  a  very  low  ebb)  and  Lot 
into  the  habit  of  a  powerless,  frightened 
hatred. 

This  exaggerated  feeling  on  Lot's  part 
will  be  better  understood  if  the  state  of 
mind  in  which  she  came  to  Wiggonholt  is 
realised.  She  came  relying  on  a  woman's 
pity  and  comfort — the  pity  of  a  woman  who 
knew  her  sad  story,  and  had  agreed  to  take 
her  into  her  home,  realising,  assuredly,  all 

15 


LOT  BARROW 

the  tragedy  and  suffering  she  carried  in  her 
heart.  Every  mile  Lot  had  travelled  on 
her  journey  to  Wiggonholt  had  increased 
her  expectation  of  a  haven  for  one  who 
had  been  too  hardly  used.  Her  reactionary 
revolt  of  feeling,  when  she  found  her  ideal 
of  sympathy  unachieved,  was  all  the  more 
bitter  because  the  truth  was  that,  so  far 
from  having  Mrs.  Child's  compassion,  she 
could  not  help  being  very  much  afraid  of 
her.  Her  fear  was  a  conscious,  unwilling 
fear ;  she  was  humiliated  and  angered  by 
it.  But  it  was  there,  and  it  drove  a  shifty, 
sly  look  into  her  eyes  sometimes,  and  she 
would  jump  to  hear  Mrs.  Child's  sudden 
speech  or  approach — and  Mrs.  Child,  aware 
of  the  tension,  slightly  despised  her  for  an 
uneasy  conscience. 

Coming  out  of  the  village,  the  'bus-horse 
walked  his  incredibly  slow  walk  up  a  rather 
hilly  bit  of  road.  He  had  not  long  re- 
covered from  this  ascent,  and  was  just 
beginning  to  fling  his  limbs  out  in  his 
strange,  loose  canter,  when  he  had  to  be 
pulled  up  sharply  at  Lot's  sign.  Excite- 
ment indoors  was  now  at  a  very  high  pitch. 
It  always  seemed  doubtful  at  the  last 
minute  whether  Mrs.  Child  would  really 
catch  the  train.  Humphrey  and  his  father 
both  stood  by,  anxious  but  helpless,  while 

16 


LOT  STOPS  THE  'BUS 

Mrs.  Child  rushed  from  one  drawer  to 
another,  and  gave,  in  a  hurried  voice, 
various  pressing  instructions  about  domestic 
affairs,  which  always  seemed  to  come  to  her 
in  a  sudden  clarity  of  memory  the  minute 
before  departure. 

Just  before  she  came  hurrying  down  the 
garden-path,  with  her  swift,  lame  stride, 
the  driver  had  taken  out  his  watch,  and  he 
must  have  been  in  the  kind  of  mood  when 
a  man  wants  to  make  a  slight  demonstra- 
tion, for  it  took  him  something  like  ten 
seconds  to  tell  the  time.  And  Lot  was 
holding  a  piece  of  her  dress  tightly  in  one 
hand,  and  turning  a  dismayed  face  to  and 
fro  between  the  farm-door  and  the  'bus. 

Mrs.  Child  climbed  up,  and  all  the  fluster 
and  anxiety  suddenly  fell  away  from  her 
as  she  stooped  and  kissed  Mr.  Child  and 
Humphrey,  each  in  turn,  with  a  different 
passion.  Then  she  waved  eagerly  to  some- 
one up  the  garden  path  ;  and  Mr.  Bravery, 
standing  there  in  a  striped  coloured  smoking- 
jacket,  and  with  very  neatly  brushed  hair, 
waved  back,  and  did  so  with  grace  and 
friendliness. 

Lot  went  into  the  sitting-room,  to  clear 
away  Mr.  Bravery's  breakfast. 

;'  It  seems  as  if  the  spring  was  coming 
on,"  she  said. 

17  0 


LOT  BARROW 

Mr.  Bravery  was  standing  by  a  table 
which  was  littered  with  papers.  He  was 
wondering  if  he  should  work  or  go  out  and 
walk. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  absently,  "  a  lovely  day." 

"  At  home,"  said  Lot,  "  on  a  day  like 
this  I'd  sometimes  go  seven  miles  to  a 
village  where  a  person  I  knew  lived,  and 
seven  miles  back.  People  would  say : 
'  You're  never  going  to  go  all  that  way  !  ' 
Of  course  it  was  just  the  going  to  and  fro 
that  I  liked." 

"  Well,  you  couldn't  have  a  much  better 
place  than  this  to  walk  in,"  said  Mr. 
Bravery. 

"  Ah,  but  I  haven't  got  the  time." 

"  No,  not  much  time,  I  suppose." 

"  And  now  when  Mrs.  Child  is  away," 
said  Lot,  happily,  "  I  shall  have  to  stick  to 
it  more  than  ever." 

"  You'll  find  it  dull  without  her,"  said 
Mr.  Bravery.  "  I  suppose  Humphrey  Child 
is  still  as  gloomy  as  usual." 

Lot  had  never  heard  Humphrey's  gloom 
referred  to  before.  From  being  a  vague 
impression  it  immediately  became  some- 
thing very  real  to  her. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  him,  then  ?  " 
she  asked,  quickly.  "  Has  he  had  a  trouble, 
sir  ?  " 

18 


LOT  STOPS  THE  'BUS 

Mr.  Bravery's  face  began  to  lose  its 
absent-minded  expression  ;  he  was  a  little 
interested  in  telling  what  was  the  matter 
with  Humphrey.  Lot  had  had  sufficient 
conversations  with  Mr.  Bravery  by  now  to 
recognise  that  passing  of  the  vague,  in- 
attentive look,  which  sometimes  never 
lifted  at  all,  but  generally  cleared,  from  one 
cause  or  another,  when  talk  had  been  in 
progress  for  some  little  time. 

"It's  just  that  Humphrey  has  one  wish 
in  the  world,  and  that  is  to  go  to  sea.  He 
has  wished  it,  I  believe,  ever  since  he  was 
about  twelve  years  old — I  suppose  he  is 
twenty-three  or  so  now — and  time  doesn't 
seem  to  lessen  his  disappointment." 

"  Oh,  dear,"  said  Lot — not,  however, 
understanding  that  kind  of  grief.  "  And 
couldn't  he  have  gone,  sir  ?  " 

"  Oh,  well,  imagine  his  father  having  to 
hire  a  man  instead  of  having  his  own  son 
to  work  with  him.  Here's  his  father  and 
mother  working  up  the  farm  for  him,  and 
he  thinks  he  wants  to  go  and  leave  it." 

;<  Teh,  tch,"  said  Lot,  trying  to  make  the 
sound  seem  shocked  and  sorry — which 
was  pure  drama  on  her  part ;  for  she  was 
very  young,  and  she  thought  there  was  only 
one  kind  of  sorrow  in  the  world. 

She  had  nearly  finished  her  clearance 

19 


LOT  BARROW 

when  she  gave  one  of  the  long,  shuddering 
sighs  that  caught  her  breath  at  rare,  un- 
foreseen times.  She  did  not  sigh  because 
she  had  sad  thoughts.  It  was,  rather,  a 
kind  of  automatic  action,  which  was  more 
likely  to  remind  her  of  sadness  than  to  be 
caused  by  it. 

She  looked  up  quickly  at  Mr.  Bravery 
when  she  had  given  that  involuntary  and 
tragic  sigh,  and  the  consciousness  of  it 
suffused  her  face.  She  found  his  eyes  were 
on  her,  and  she  continued  dumbly  to  look 
at  him,  as  if  she  wished,  by  her  expressive 
face,  to  confirm  that  intimation  of  the  fact 
that  she  was  a  person  who  had  known 
great  trouble. 

And  in  a  few  moments  he  was  made  to 
feel  that  he  had  a  power  to  make  things 
bright  for  her,  when  she  said,  with  every 
sign  of  unaffected  happiness  : 

"  I  shall  bring  your  lunch  to  you  all 
alone  to-day." 


20 


CHAPTER  THREE:   PARTIAL 
CONFIDENCES 

WHEN  Mrs.  Child  returned  from  her 
London  expeditions,  she  was  generally 
in  a  mood  reminiscent  of  the  various 
stages  of  her  long  illness.  Anecdotes 
of  the  present  visit  were  supplemented 
by  ruminating  memories  of  past  visits; 
but  in  the  end  the  talk  would  nearly 
always  deal  with  that  great  time,  nearly 
twenty  years  ago,  when  she  had  lain 
for  some  weeks  in  the  London  hospital 
and  had  been  operated  upon  to  save  her 
life. 

Mrs.  Child  lay  back  in  her  comfortable 
padded  chair,  while  her  husband  trussed 
chicken  in  the  wide  room-passage  outside 
the  kitchen  door.  This  room  or  passage 
was  bricked,  and  had  a  table  and  bench  in 
it,  and  a  collection  of  tools  and  pails  and 
baskets.  It  was  long  and  wide ;  and, 
besides  two  outside  doors,  the  kitchen,  dairy 
and  sitting-room  doors  opened  from  it. 
Lot  had  finished  her  work,  and  sat  down 
with  the  paper.  All  the  cheerfulness  that 
had  come  with  Mrs.  Child's  departure  was 

21 


LOT  BARROW 

fading  away  from  her.  At  this  stage  in 
the  evening  Mrs.  Child  was  dealing  with 
twenty  years  ago. 

"  I  never  minded  it  a  bit,  not  when  I 
got  there,"  said  Mrs.  Child  to  her  husband, 
while  he  worried  a  chicken  into  a  fat  shape. 
"  I  was  only  so  glad  to  be  at  peace  and  rest. 
As  I  laid  my  head  on  the  pillow  I  shouldn't 
have  minded  never  to  have  got  up  again. 
Then  as  the  afternoon  came  on,  and  they 
began  to  get  me  ready,  I  did  feel  a  bit 
queer,  and  I  wanted  you." 

"  Humphrey,"  said  Mr.  Child,  "  fetch  me 
that  pair  of  ducks." 

"  I  would  have  liked  to  be  the  first  to  go, 
but  I  had  to  wait  my  turn.  And  the  last 
thing  I  said  to  the  nurse — that  one  you  saw, 
Michael — was,  '  Has  the  authorities  got  a 
correct  note  of  my  husband's  address  ?  ' 

"  If  anyone  wants  a  plump  bird,  let  'em 
come  now,"  said  Mr.  Child,  finishing  his 
fowl.  "  Well,  mother,  that's  the  hardest 
day's  work  I  ever  done,  when  I  came  away 
and  left  you  in  that  hospital." 

Lot,  in  the  grasp  of  that  dreadful  bitter- 
ness of  hers,  wondered  that  he  could  really 
have  felt  so.  She  did  not  want  to  hate, 
but  her  conscience  did  not  condemn  her. 
She  thought  she  was  the  only  person  who 
really  saw  through  Mrs.  Child,  and  it  was 

22 


PARTIAL  CONFIDENCES 

an  offence  against  justice  that  she  should 
be  loved  and  admired. 

Mrs.  Child  had  returned  with  renewed 
good  temper  and  activity,  but  a  feeling  of 
friendliness  towards  Lot  did  not  make  her 
a  less  severe  critic  of  Lot's  work.  She  was 
watchful  and  exacting.  In  her  new  strength 
she  attacked  house-cleaning  with  untiring 
energy,  and  her  own  enthusiasm  and 
efficiency  were  such  that  it  was  difficult  to 
satisfy  her.  Lot  was  a  good,  practical 
worker,  but  her  fear  of  Mrs.  Child  put  her 
at  a  disadvantage.  Nervousness  and  resent- 
ment did  not  help  her  to  be  clever  at  her 
duties.  She  was  eagerly  defensive,  and 
was  sometimes  so  absorbed  in  bitterly  and 
silently  excusing  herself  from  having  merited 
some  past  rebuke,  that  she  forgot  her  work 
and  was  reproached  again. 

Two  days  after  Mrs.  Child's  return,  there 
had  been  a  luxuriant  dinner  in  the  kitchen, 
and  the  pile  of  plates  and  knives  and  forks 
with  which  Lot  had  to  deal  at  the  end 
testified  to  its  richness.  Though  the  water 
in  her  basin  was  so  hot  that  she  could  only 
just  endure  the  touch  of  it,  her  hands 
became  slippery  with  grease,  and  the  plates 
she  drew  from  the  water  were  not  really 
cleansed.  She  heard  Mrs.  Child's  deliberate 
yet  speedy  approach  down  the  passage. 

23 


LOT  BARROW 

That  sound  always  put  her  instinctively 
on  her  guard,  and  ready  with  her  virtuous, 
indignant  defence  of  whatever  she  might 
be  doing.  Her  brain  worked  quickly  in 
imagining  the  attack  and  the  defence. 
She  knew  so  well  that  Mrs.  Child  invariably 
touched  the  weak  spot  if  there  was  one ; 
and  on  this  occasion  Lot  fortunately  dis- 
covered her  mistake  herself,  just  through 
having  put  herself  in  Mrs.  Child's  condem- 
natory mood,  so  as  to  rehearse  her  effectual 
answers.  She  anticipated  the  phrases  of 
the  enemy.  She  imagined  Mrs.  Child  taking 
in  with  a  swift  glance  the  greasy  backs  of 
the  plates  which  were  waiting  to  be  dried, 
and  saying  :  "Is  your  water  hot  ?  "  "  Yes," 
Lot  would  reply,  indifferently  (perhaps  even 
doubtfully,  for  if  Mrs.  Child  plunged  in  her 
hand  to  feel  for  herself,  and  got  scalded,  no 
one  could  say  it  was  Lot's  fault).  "  And 
have  you  got  plenty  of  soda  ?  "  Mrs.  Child 
would  ask  next.  Lot  was  just  rehearsing 
her  second  indifferent  "  Yes,"  when  sud- 
denly her  face  changed,  and  her  body 
stiffened  into  activity.  She  reached  out 
to  the  great  jar  of  soda  standing  on  the 
window-sill  and  put  a  generous  allowance 
into  her  basin  ;  then  she  put  back  into  the 
water  the  plates  she  had  already  taken  out 
for  clean. 

24 


PARTIAL  CONFIDENCES 

She  succeeded  in  doing  this  just  before 
Mrs.  Child  came  into  the  room  ;  and  there 
was  nothing  unusual  to  see — unless  an 
expert  in  expression  could  have  noticed  on 
Lot's  face  a  little  look  of  subsiding  fear. 

But  she  never  guarded  her  expression  in 
Mr.  Bravery's  room.  On  the  contrary, 
she  made  a  display  there,  by  her  mournful 
looks,  of  all  her  pent-up  grievances. 

"  Cheer  up,  Lot,"  Mr.  Bravery  said  to  her 
one  morning,  when  she  brought  in  his 
breakfast  alone.  It  was  market-day,  and 
Mrs.  Child  was  helping  to  pack  the  cart. 

"  Sir,"  she  said,  with  sudden  tears,  "  I've 
been  through  a  lot  of  trouble  ;  it's  dreadful 
what  I've  been  through." 

He  looked  at  her  with  sympathy,  which 
was  not  extended,  however,  to  where  he 
thought  she  probably  exaggerated. 

"  You  have  left  your  home  for  the  first 
time  ?  "  he  questioned,  consolingly. 

"  Oh,  yes,  the  first  time."  Her  tears 
stopped  suddenly. 

"  And  you  feel  thrown  on  the  world,  and 
everything  is  strange  to  you." 

"  Yes,"  she  agreed,  almost  as  if  she  were 
relieved  that  he  had  assigned  her  grief  to 
such  a  suitable  cause.  She  could  even  im- 
prove on  that.  "  And  then  in  the  nights  I 
don't  sleep  sometimes,  and  feel  afraid."^  .^i 

25 


LOT  BARROW 

"  Some  special  fear  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know — oh,  yes,  of  death,  I 
daresay." 

He  said :  "  Ah,  Lot ;  that  fear  must 
come  and  go  ...  I  wonder  if  it  would 
help  you  to  know  that  you  are  near  some- 
one who  does  not  fear  death." 

"  You,  sir  ?  "  She  looked  surprised.  And 
then  he  noticed  with  a  certain  disappoint- 
ment that  the  surprise  dropped  away  from 
her  face.  If  this  girl  could  so  quickly 
and  easily  understand  not  fearing  death, 
perhaps  she  had  some  worse  thing  in  her 
mind  to  fear. 

On  a  sudden  impulse  of  self-pity  Lot  had 
announced  her  unhappiness.  Then  with 
a  shudder  she  had  pulled  herself  up,  for 
she  dared  not  go  so  near  that  trouble  as  to 
speak  of  it.  It  was  then  necessary  to  find 
some  other  cause  for  grief.  The  fear  of 
death  ?  Yes,  that  was  pretty  bad.  But 
she  was  doubtful  whether  it  was  bad  enough, 
and  when  Mr.  Bravery  said  that  he  did  not 
fear  death,  she  felt  she  must  find  something 
a  little  worse  than  that. 

"  Perhaps  I  don't  fear  being  dead,  sir — 
perhaps  it's  dying — something  happening 
to  your  body."  This  was  bad  enough  to 
put  a  certain  horror  into  her  voice. 

'  You  die  many  deaths  by  your  antici- 

26 


PARTIAL  CONFIDENCES 

pations,"  he  said.  He  thought  he  would 
try  to  be  more  clear.  "  Be  brave  enough 
to  put  it  by.  You  have  only  one  day  in 
which  to  die,  and  all  these  days  in  which 
to  live.  Do  not  change  them  into  death 
days." 

The  sham  trouble  did  not  really  absorb 
her.  She  was  ready  enough  to  be  gay  now, 
and  she  pounced  quite  cheerfully  on  the 
cover  of  his  breakfast-dish. 

"  Is  it  icy-cold,  sir  ?  5: 

"  How  could  it  be  ?"  he  said,  half  kindly, 
half  impatiently  at  her  silly  use  of  a  word. 
But  in  a  moment  he  was  thinking  again 
what  a  pity  it  was  that  this  young  girl 
should  rehearse  the  part  of  death  with  fear 
at  night. 

"  Little  things  worry  you  during  the  day, 
I  daresay,  Lot  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir,"  she  said  at  once,  with  a 
ready  frown.  "  Of  course  Mrs.  Child  is 
very  hard,  sir." 

Mr.  Bravery  esteemed  Mrs.  Child. 

"  She  has  been  a  sufferer,"  he  said,  in  a 
tone  which  hinted  that  there  were  tangible 
griefs.  He  was  a  little  surprised  to  hear 
Lot  say,  with  a  kind  of  unexpected  direct 
sadness  : 

"  She  ought  to  be  kinder  to  me." 

Mr.  Bravery  was  a  man  much  employed 

27 


LOT  BARROW 

at  his  writing-table,  and  what  he  wrote 
as  he  sat  there  day  after  day  in  the  farm- 
room  went,  in  a  strictly  limited  sense,  out 
into  the  world.  That  is,  it  went  to  London, 
and  was  printed  and  published,  and  the 
world  could  have  had  it  if  it  wished.  More 
about  his  work  comes  later ;  it  is  sufficient 
now  to  say  that  he  was  not  at  all  famous. 

At  any  rate,  he  had  leisure  to  be  faintly 
interested  in  the  problem  that  Lot  appeared 
to  be.  She  was  certainly  outside  the 
range  of  his  close  interests  :  it  was  as  if  he 
saw  her  from  a  considerable  distance  ;  but 
the  fact  that  this  splendid-looking  girl 
laboured  under  some  sense  of  injury  that 
was  probably  absurdly  exaggerated  did 
arouse  a  little  feeling  in  one  who  had  views 
on  the  unsubstantiality  of  human  woes. 

One  May  morning  when  the  day  had 
started  early  and  badly  for  Lot  in  a  pas- 
sionate dispute  with  Mrs.  Child  as  to  how 
the  great  boiler  standing  on  the  kitchen 
stove  had  been  allowed  to  go  empty,  she 
was  in  Mr.  Bravery's  room,  passing  her 
duster  quickly  and  angrily  over  the  fur- 
niture surfaces,  when  he  came  down.  Her 
eyelids  were  red,  and  she  had  an  indignant, 
unhappy  expression. 

"  Well,  Lot,  here's  spring  at  last,"  he 
said,  as  he  threw  open  the  window. 

28 


PARTIAL  CONFIDENCES 

She  sighed  "  Yes,"  but  did  not  raise  her 
eyes  to  the  sunny  view. 

He  tried  again.  "  I  daresay  you  often 
write  home  to  your  people  ?  " 

"  Good  lord,  sir,"  said  Lot ;  "  I  haven't 
got  any  home." 

He  looked  surprised.  He  did  not  want 
to  argue  the  point,  but  he  had  always 
understood  that  she  had  just  left  home. 

She  explained.  "  I  did  have  a  home. 
There  was  me  and  father  and  Jessie — that's 
my  sister.  But  father  died  with  his  heart ; 
— yes,  sir,  I  had  a  lot  of  trouble  come  all 
together.  And  so  I  came  here." 

"  Is  Jessie  far  away  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  she  was,  sir !  She 
married  nearly  a  year  ago,  and  she  and 
her  husband  went  out  to  Canada  to  try  their 
luck.  I  missed  her  when  she  left  home, 
but  she  didn't  mind  going,  I  can  tell  you  !  " 
Lot  smiled  slightly  ;  she  was  cheering  up. 

Mr.  Bravery  smiled  too.  "  Well,  I  don't 
suppose  she  would,  would  she,  with  a 
brand  new  husband.  .  .  .  ?  " 

"  The  joke  of  it  was,"  said  Lot,  half- 
shyly,  "she  always  thought  her  Frank  would 
be  after  me.  Of  course  Jessie's  not  a  bit 
like  me  to  look  at.  Well,  as  if  I  could  ! 
A  man  like  that !  You  should  have  seen 
him,  sir ;  a  funny  little  face,  he  had.  I 

29 


LOT  BARROW 

suppose  she  thought  everyone  must  want 
him  the  same  as  she  did." 

"  I  daresay  you  had  plenty  of  admirers 
of  your  own  if  it  comes  to  that,"  said  Mr. 
Bravery,  dryly.  He  was  thinking :  "A 
girl  with  a  face  like  that  would  cheat  a  lot 
of  fools  into  thinking  that  this  world  was  a 
fine  place." 

Lot  tossed  her  head  slightly. 

"  Of  course  I  had  my  young  man,"  she 
said.  "  Jessie  might  have  known  that  I 
didn't  want  hers." 

"  Well,  I'm  sure  your  young  man  writes 
to  you,"  said  Mr.  Bravery,  feeling  pleased 
with  himself  that  he  had  brightened  her, 
but  with  an  air  of  finality,  because  he 
wanted  to  get  to  his  letters. 

But  Lot  looked  at  him  in  sudden  horror, 
and  turned  very  pale.  Up  till  now,  she 
had  enjoyed  talking  just  because  she  was 
talking  to  him,  and  she  had  liked  to  impress 
him  with  the  idea  that  she  was  a  successful 
and  sought-after  young  woman.  But  his 
remark  brought  back  to  her  mind  the  fact 
that  the  happy,  silly  things  she  had  been 
talking  of  were  not  all  the  past — she  was 
brought,  as  she  always  must  be,  to  the 
other  dreadful  remembrances,  with  which 
all  was  involved.  It  was  no  good  her  ever 
trying  to  evade  them. 

30 


PARTIAL  CONFIDENCES 

"  Oh — oh "  she  said,  gasping,  and 

beginning  to  speak  before  she  knew  what 
she  was  going  to  say,  "  we  fell  out."  She 
looked  at  him  as  if  to  see  if  he  believed  it, 
and  then  she  gave  a  sudden  sob  and  ran 
out  of  the  room. 

He  did  believe  it,  of  course,  and  he  felt 
upset  at  her  grief — so  upset  that  he  was 
put  off  work  for  that  morning,  and  went 
up  on  to  the  hills  instead. 

He  did  not  think  there  need  be  any  such 
thing  as  grief,  or  torture  of  our  human 
hearts,  if  only  people  would  rate  the  world 
at  its  proper  value.  But  his  thinking  that 
did  not  help  the  people  who  thought  other- 
wise— that  was  obvious. 

He  consoled  himself,  as  he  passed  through 
the  village  and  began  to  climb  the  great 
hills.  He  had  a  theory  that  perhaps  even 
those  people  who  seem  the  unhappiest  are 
probably  not  more  unhappy  in  fact  than 
those  who  appear  to  be  happy.  He  thought 
people  who  continued  to  be  unhappy  about 
things  were  content  with  their  own  un- 
happiness  —  they  preferred  to  mourn  their 
silly,  imaginary  blisses  rather  than  face  the 
fact  that  man  was  not  meant  for  bliss. 
That  was  the  kind  of  thing  he  wrote  about 
when  he  sat  at  his  table  in  the  farm.  And 
that  was  what  got  sent  up  to  London,  in 

31 


LOT  BARROW 

the  form  of  essays,  for  publication.  Only 
he  had  to  publish  at  his  own  expense. 

The  village  did  not  only  consist  of  a 
thread  of  cottages  lying  in  a  waving  line 
at  the  foot  of  the  hills.  This  line  had 
curious,  unexpected  tributaries  ;  it  explored 
a  little.  Sometimes  one  cottage  had  a 
mysteriously-chosen  position  immediately 
behind  another ;  it  might  not  be  visible 
from  the  village  street,  but  there  it  stood — 
wall  to  wall,  window  to  window,  with  the 
cottage  in  front.  And  sometimes  a  little 
narrow  yard-like  opening  in  the  road  would 
lead  to  quite  an  important  group  with  a 
name  of  its  own.  Ford  Street  was  one  of 
these,  and  it  housed  some  of  the  most 
prosperous  of  the  villagers  ;  but  its  exis- 
tence would  never  have  been  suspected 
from  the  village  street.  A  wanderer  in 
the  village  would  find  it  extensive  and 
scattered,  and  come  upon  large  walled 
gardens  belonging  to  aged  little  cottages. 

But  now  from  the  great  bare  hill,  which 
rose  so  sheerly  up  from  behind  the  village 
that  it  put  forward  the  sunset  every  evening 
by  about  an  hour,  Mr.  Bravery  looked  down 
and  saw  only  what  seemed  to  be  a  little  red 
hamlet  of  no  importance  and  no  pretensions ; 
it  was  diminished  until  it  had  no  superiority 
of  size.  The  humbler  villages  and  hamlets 

32 


PARTIAL  CONFIDENCES 

around  must  in  proportion  have  disappeared 
altogether,  had  he  had  a  view  of  them. 
And — chief  of  wonders — this  seemed  to  be 
a  hamlet  nestling  in  trees,  enveloped  by 
them,  and  intersected,  making  a  pattern  in 
green  and  red.  He  could  hardly  remember 
a  single  tree  in  the  village,  and  made  this 
discovery — that  distance  seems  to  gather 
together  those  trees  that  are  separate  and 
unremarkable  near  at  hand. 

Even  the  church  tower  was  behind  trees. 
He  looked  for  the  farm,  and  looked  too  far 
away.  That  was  another  delusive  effect 
of  distance — the  farm  and  the  village 
appeared  so  near  together.  He  suddenly 
located  the  outbuildings  in  an  unexpected 
spot.  He  had  never  looked  down  from  just 
this  spur  before.  The  house  was  mostly 
hidden,  but  the  outbuildings  seemed  to 
contribute  handsomely  to  the  length  of  the 
village.  He  was  suddenly  moved  to  think 
of  Lot,  who  was  doing  something  somewhere 
within  that  little  huddled  line  of  red. 
Even  her  body  strangely  seemed  too  big, 
as  he  thought  of  it,  to  be  there — then 
what  about  her  great  important  griefs  ? 
Yes,  they  were,  important — at  any  rate 
while  she  thought  them  so.  A  look  on  her 
face  came  back  to  him  rather  sickeningly. 
He  thought  he  had  never  seen  such  a 

33  D 


LOT  BARROW 

stricken  look  on  anyone's  face  as  on  hers 
when  she  had  suddenly  turned  pale.  It 
was  a  look  of  anguish  too  big  for  that  little 
village,  too  big  for  this  world.  It  seemed 
to  demand  a  heaven  to  which  to  rise,  and 
a  hell  to  which  to  sink. 

He  would  try  and  make  her  see  things 
differently. 


34 


CHAPTER  FOUR:  THE  SIGH 

IT  was  market-day  again,  and  every- 
one would  be  up  early,  but  Lot  was 
earlier  than  all.  She  came  down  quietly, 
and  unfastened  the  door  and  went  out 
into  the  brilliant  early  sunshine,  which 
even  promised  heat  later  in  the  day.  She 
went  down  the  garden,  and  across  the 
meadows  into  the  wood. 

She  crackled  about  in  the  little  wood, 
branches  catching  her  hair,  and  dried 
leaves  beneath  her  feet.  But  if  there  were 
dead  leaves  there  was  another  growth, 
linked  to  the  earth  by  a  fine  thread  of  life 
— a  white,  starry  growth,  with  a  delicate 
stem  and  a  lowly  bunch  of  green.  There 
were  other  wild-flowers  there,  but  it  was 
the  day  of  the  wood-anemones. 

Lot  crept  about,  to  gather  them.  She 
was  careful  with  her  feet,  because  she  did 
not  like  to  feel  her  weight  crushing  the 
flowers.  There  were  the  closed  buds  of 
wild  hyacinths  there.  "  And  it's  not  as  if 
I  was  as  light  as  a  feather,"  she  thought, 
on  the  slightly  facetious  terms  with  herself 
that  were  possible  when  she  was  not 
absorbed  in  her  grief. 

35 


LOT  BARROW 

When  she  had  gathered  a  bunch,  and  her 
feet  were  wet  with  dew,  she  went  back  to 
the  house.  The  family  had  now  been  astir 
for  some  time,  for  in  the  passage  Lot  saw  a 
big  basket,  or  trug,  filled  with  wallflowers 
and  strong  red  rhubarb.  The  wallflowers 
were  dark  red — that  noble  red  with  black 
in  it.  They  had  their  tight  little  heads 
compactly  pressed  together  in  solid  bunches. 
Mr.  Child's  idea  of  a  bunch  was  not  that  a 
little  should  look  like  a  lot.  No,  he  packed 
with  a  firm  hand,  and  one  of  his  bunches, 
untied,  spread  itself  to  an  astonishing 
extent.  The  April  rhubarb  was  a  firm 
thick  growth :  altogether  the  earth  had 
not  been  idle. 

Lot  did  not  meet  anyone  as  she  went 
through  the  passage.  She  looked  in  at  Mr. 
Bravery's  room,  hardly  hoping  (except  by 
a  quick  leap  of  her  heart  just  before  she 
looked)  that  he  would  be  there.  But  he 
was  there,  with  a  bath-towel  over  his 
shoulders,  and  no  collar  on,  and  his  hair 
very  far  from  being  the  smooth,  shining 
thing  it  generally  was.  She  held  out  her 
bunch  to  him,  with  the  impulse  shining 
on  her  face. 

'  Would  you  like  some  of  my  favourite 
flowers,  sir  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I  mean, 
favourite  for  to-day." 

36 


"  Thank  you,"  lie  said,  but  not  taking 
them  from  her,  so  that  her  outstretching 
action  ended  a  little  nervously  as  she  put 
them  on  the  table.  "  Yes,  one  can  only  be 
faithless  in  that  matter.  I  think  your 
choice  for  to-day  is  good." 

"  They  won't  last  so  very  long,  either," 
said  Lot,  her  empty  hands  hanging  rather 
awkwardly  by  her  side,  as  if  they  should 
in  reason  and  modesty  still  have  held  the 
flowers.  "  There'll  be  the  bluebells  soon  ; 
and  the  little  milk-cups  come  all  over 
where  the  anemones  have  been." 

"  And  I  suppose  you  will  love  them  the 
best  in  their  turn." 

"  No,  never,"  said  Lot,  nodding  her  head 
emphatically.  "  Let's  see,  I  suppose  the 
next  thing  I  shall  be  saying  I  love  the  best 
is  yellow  wallflowers.  I  suppose  I  shall  be 
saying  I  love  them  the  best  in  the  world 
until  the  next  thing  comes  along."  She 
was  confident  that  her  idiosyncracies  were  in- 
teresting, and  yet  it  meant  something  like 
despair  to  her  to  see  the  aloof,  unmoved  look 
of  his  face. 

This  certainly  was  one  of  the  times  when 
he  did  not  feel  interested  in  the  rather 
fatiguing  girl,  happy  with  her  flowers,  and 
a  little  too  talkative.  He  moved  to  the 
door,  and  just  looked  back  to  say,  in  order 

37 


LOT  BARROW 
to     cover    his    retreat,     "  I'm     going    to 


swim." 


And  then  as  she  looked  up  at  him  to 
make  some  bright  response  he  saw  her 
shudder — unexpectedly,  involuntarily.  It 
made  her  smile  seem  a  ghastly  smile  until 
it  vanished,  as  it  slowly  did,  to  be  replaced 
by  a  nervous,  drawn  look.  Evidently  that 
messenger  from  some  past  grief  was  per- 
sistent, and  came  at  any  time  by  night  or 
day,  and  she  was  at  its  mercy.  By  night  ? 
Perhaps  she  had  cruel  nights.  Mr.  Bravery 
continued  to  stand  at  the  door,  and  now 
he  gave  her  all  his  attention. 

'  Will  you  put  the  flowers  in  water  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  raising  her  eyes  to  him 
gratefully. 

"  And — believe  me,  Lot — it  is  not  wise 
to  grieve." 

"  No,  sir  ?  " 

"  No.  Some  day  I  will  try  and  explain 
to  you." 

"  Could  you  tell  me  now,  sir  ?  Because, 
you  see — well,  I  am  grieving  so  dreadfully 
all  the  time." 

Sounds  of  bustle  in  the  household  were 
increasing.  There  were  hurried  steps,  and 
voices,  and  the  shifting  of  baskets  ;  and 
from  outside  there  came  the  noise  of  a 
thousand  birds  singing  in  the  sun. 

38 


THE  SIGH 

Mr.  Bravery  leaned  forward  and  spoke 
rather  hurriedly. 

"  The  madness  is,  to  expect  to  be  happy. 
Realise  that  you  were  never  meant  to  be 
happy,  and  then  you  will  be  indifferent ; 
you  will  not  grieve." 

Lot  did  not  altogether  realise  what  he 
said,  but  she  looked  at  his  ardent  face. 
Her  own  kindled,  and  he  thought  it  was 
with  understanding. 


39 


CHAPTER   FIVE:    HUSBAND   AND 
WIFE 

IT  was  only  occasionally  that  Humphrey 
Child  gratified  his  father  by  walking 
down  with  him  to  the  Wheatsheaves  after 
the  evening  meal.  Humphrey  generally 
went  to  bed,  or  sat  by  the  fire  absorbed 
in  some  book  about  men  who  had  had  the 
common  decent  luck  to  be  able  to  go  to  sea. 
And  he  would  answer  his  father's  invitation 
with  a  curt  refusal :  "  No,  I  shan't  be 
going  out  to-night." 

These  persistent  invitations  from  Mr. 
Child  must  have  struck  any  outsider  as 
being  rather  pathetic.  Because  they  were 
always  delivered  with  an  attempt  at  an  air 
of  studious  indifference.  In  their  business 
dealings  Mr.  Child  was  invariably  the  cool 
authority  and  director ;  but  in  anything 
personal  or  intimate,  he  inevitably  wore  a 
little  air  of  apology  (because  he  would  not 
let  his  son  go  to  sea)  ;  and  if  you  are 
apologetic  you  cannot  really  be  off-hand, 
however  hard  you  try. 

One  night  when,  in  answer  to  his  father's 
suggestion,  Humphrey  had  merely  muttered 

40 


HUSBAND  AND  WIFE 

that  he  was  going  to  bed,  the  husband  and 
wife  were  left  early  alone  in  the  kitchen. 
Mrs.  Child  sat  in  her  customary  chair, 
working  at  her  crochet.  Mr.  Child  was 
unusually  quiet ;  he  put  his  chair  very  near 
to  hers,  and  she  knew  that  he  felt  sad. 
She  did  not  try  to  beguile  his  thoughts  ; 
they  always  faced  their  troubles  very 
squarely.  Some  instinct  told  her  that  Lot 
was  in  his  mind.  She  had  but  just  gone  up 
to  bed,  and  Mr.  Child  had  watched  her 
out  of  the  door. 

"  Mr.  Bravery  seems  quite  to  take  a  fancy 
to  that  girl,"  she  said. 

"  So  a  man  might  do,"  said  Mr.  Child. 

"  Do  you  know,  when  sister  Maude  first 
wrote  and  told  me  all  about  her,  I  thought 
it  wouldn't  do  for  us  as  had  a  grown-up 
son  to  take  her  ;  but  Maude  said  she  thought 
she'd  had  her  lesson  once  and  for  good. 
She  took  on  so  over  it." 

"  I  had  the  same  idea  myself,"  said  Mr. 
Child,  "  when  first  you  put  your  sister's 
letter  on  the  table  there  in  front  of  me." 
He  drank  from  a  glass  of  beer :  it  seemed 
to  be  poor  comfort  to-night.  "  And  then 
I  thought  again,"  he  said,  "  and  that  time 
I  thought  different." 

Mrs.  Child  took  this  in  slowly,  and  he 
was  in  no  hurry  to  explain.  He  always 

41 


LOT  BARROW 

felt  that  the  importance  of  his  words  made 
a  good  deal  of  waiting  not  unprofitable. 

"  I  suppose  you  thought  he'd  never  notice 
her  any  more  than  if  she  was  that  stool," 
suggested  Mrs.  Child. 

"  No,  you're  wrong." 

"  What,  do  you  mean  you  thought  it 
wouldn't  matter  so  very  much  if  he  did 
like  her  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  girl ;  that's  what  I  mean.  .  .  . 
You  see,  supposing  he'd  have  taken  a 
liking  for  her,  it  'ud  have  settled  him  down 
a  bit.  It  isn't  right,  it  isn't  natural," 
said  Mr.  Child,  with  rising  feeling,  "  that  a 
boy  with  a  comfortable  home  should  think 
of  nothing  but  the  sea,  just  the  same  as  if 
his  mother  had  been  a  mackerel.  If  some 
one  was  to  catch  his  fancy  it  'ud  show  him 
as  the  land  held  something  good.  .  .  . 
What's  his  age  ?  " 

"  Twenty-four  now,"  sighed  Mrs.  Child. 
She  felt  that  strange,  hushed  pain  which 
so  many  men  will  sometimes  inflict  upon 
the  finer  sensibilities  of  their  wives.  She 
only  half -expressed  it  when  she  said : 

"  It  never  struck  me  like  that.  I  should 
have  been  afraid  she  was  too — too  flighty 
to  do  him  any  good." 

But  Mr.  Child  reassured  her  by  what  he 
next  said,  and  she  was  able  to  be  happy 

42 


HUSBAND  AND  WIFE 

again  in  her  faith  in  him  as  perfect  husband 
and  father. 

"  Ah,  and  supposing  she  was — Humphrey 
would  have  found  that  out,  given  the  time 
to  do  it  in,"  said  Mr.  Child.  "  You  may 
fool  Humphrey  for  a  time,  if  you're  clever, 
but  you  won't  fool  him  for  long.  No, 
it  would  have  settled  him  down  for  a  bit, 
maybe,  and  then  who  knows  but  that  he 
might  never  have  had  quite  the  same 
notion  about  the  sea  again." 

"  He  doesn't  seem  to  take  much  notice 
of  her,  does  he  ?  " 

Mr.  Child  sucked  his  teeth  contemptu- 
ously and  leaned  back  in  his  chair. 

"  He  doesn't  know  if  she's  in  the  room 
or  out  of  it,"  he  said. 

"  And  yet  of  course  she's  a  fine-looking 
girl,"  said  the  mother  humbly,  as  she 
thought  with  a  kind  of  worship  of  the 
withholding  goodness  of  her  son. 

"  She  wants  to  look  like  the  old  hulk  of 
a  ship,"  he  said.  "  Then  he'd  notice  her 
fast  enough." 

"  Well,  well,  it  wasn't  to  be,"  said  Mrs. 
Child. 


43 


CHAPTER  SIX:  ALIENS 

THERE  were  busy  times  ahead  at  the 
farm.  The  rooms  occupied  by  Mr. 
Bravery  were  not  the  only  ones  at  the 
disposal  of  visitors ;  along  white-washed 
passages,  up  or  down  stray  steps,  and  round 
corners,  there  were  rooms  and  more  rooms  ; 
and  the  fortunate  season  of  letting  was 
drawing  near.  Mrs.  Child  was  particularly 
lucky  this  year.  In  addition  to  having 
two  rooms  let  permanently  to  the  nicest 
gentleman  that  ever  crossed  a  threshold 
("he  is  a  article,"  Mrs.  Child  would  say 
in  her  high  approval),  she  let  other  rooms 
for  June,  and  when  the  June  party  left 
there  were  some  relations  of  Mr.  Bravery's 
to  come  and  take  their  place. 

Mrs.  Child  spoke  a  great  deal  of  the  time 
when  Mr.  Bravery's  cousin  should  be  at 
the  farm.  "  I  think  she  can't  but  say  he's 
comfortable,"  she  said  again  and  again  to 
her  husband  ;  and  he  said,  to  tease  her,  on 
the  lines  of  his  familiar  joke :  "  Comfort- 
able, my  dear  ?  She'll  say  you  and  he's 
a  perfect  scandal !  " 

But    in    the    meantime    less    important 

44 


ALIENS 

guests  had  at  least  the  quality  of  imminence 
to  lend  them  excitement.  The  letter  of  the 
unknown  applicant  for  June  was  discussed 
at  endless  length  in  the  kitchen.  If  all 
you  know  about  a  person  is  that  she  writes 
and  wants  your  rooms  for  June,  for  herself 
and  her  husband  and  her  little  boy  and  her 
nurse,  and  signs  herself  "  E.  Schneider," 
there  is  obviously  a  vast  field  left  for 
speculation. 

"  Now,  you  know  it  looks  to  me,"  said 
Mr.  Child,  who  always  had  the  happy 
knowledge  that  to  his  wife  at  least  his 
words  were  words  of  peculiar  wisdom,  "  as 
if  this  weren't  an  English  name."  He  held 
the  letter  at  some  distance  from  him,  and 
looked  at  the  signature  with  his  head  on 
one  side.  "  By  what  I  can  see  of  it,  it's 
a  foreign  name." 

This  cast  a  gloom. 

"I'm  not  against  anyone  because  they 
weren't  born  English,"  said  Mrs.  Child. 
"  For  one  thing,  they  couldn't  help  them- 
selves. But  I  don't  know  that  I  want 
them  here." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Mr.  Child,  "  I  may  be 
wrong,  but  by  what  I  can  see  of  it  this 
isn't  an  English  name." 

"  There  was  a  man  in  our  village  called 
Schmidt,"  said  Lot,  impressively.  "  Father 

45 


LOT  BARROW 

said  that's  just  the  same  as  our  Smith 
really."  She  was  shy  at  joining  in  the 
conversation,  but  felt  impelled  to  do  so  by 
the  interest  of  what  she  had  to  say. 

"As  to  that  I  can't  say  one  way  or  the 
other,"  said  Mr.  Child.  He  turned  to  his 
wife.  "  But  if  you  was  to  go  in  and  ask 
Mr.  Bravery  in  there,  you'd  see  what  he'd 
say  about  this  name." 

Mrs.  Child  took  the  letter  in  to  Mr. 
Bravery,  and  Mr.  Child  sat  back  in  his  chair 
with  an  expression  on  his  face  which  seemed 
to  suggest  that  he  confidently  expected  to 
be  proved  triumphant  in  an  opinion  which 
he  alone  had  held  against  the  world. 

"  German  !  "  said  Mrs.  Child,  returning. 
"  He'd  no  sooner  looked  at  the  name  than 
he  said :  '  Mrs.  Child,  the  Germans  are 
coming.' ' 

Mr.  Child  looked  at  each  of  them  in  turn 
with  ill-suppressed  triumph. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  told  you  that  was  no 
English  name." 

"  Now  we'll  have  some  cat-a-wauling," 
said  Humphrey,  getting  up  to  go  to 
bed. 

However,  the  Germans  were  allowed  to 
come ;  and  so  Mrs.  Child,  who  was  always 
specially  weakly  in  the  spring,  foreseeing 
that  there  would  be  abundant  work  to  be 

46 


ALIENS 

done,  got  in  another  girl  from  the  village. 

Jennie  Webster  came  "  to  oblige,"  be- 
cause she  happened  to  be  at  home  without 
employment.  Lot  conceived  a  secret  won- 
dering admiration  for  Jennie,  because  that 
calm,  self-possessed  jroung  woman  was  not 
in  the  least  afraid  of  Mrs.  Child.  The 
very  terms  on  which  she  came  struck  Lot 
as  the  most  daring  thing  she  had  ever 
heard.  "  To  oblige  !  "  If  only  Lot  herself 
could  have  begun  her  career  at  the  farm 
with  that  moral  assurance  of  having  come 
to  oblige,  she  thought  things  might  have 
been  different  from  the  first. 

No,  Jennie  was  quite  cool.  She  and  her 
employer  seemed  to  have  a  kind  of  placid 
indifferent  liking  for  each  other,  which 
Mrs.  Child's  occasional  scolding  and  grumb- 
ling in  no  way  interfered  with.  How  Lot 
envied  Jennie's  coolness  !  How  she  des- 
pised and  hated  herself  for  her  own  uneasi- 
ness ! 

When  Jennie  first  came  Lot  had  taken 
for  granted  that  she  must  be  afraid  (she 
was  so  full  of  her  own  fear),  and  she  even 
hoped  that  Jennie  would  hate  as  well  as 
fear.  But  she  soon  bitterly  realised  that 
there  was  neither  fear  nor  hate.  When 
Jennie  had  been  there  not  more  than  a 
few  days  she  complained  one  day  of  having 

47 


left  her  purse  at  home,  and  just  before  she 
took  her  leave  in  the  evening  she  said  to 
Mrs.  Child  in  a  perfectly  off-hand  manner 
(yes,  Lot  had  to  own  to  herself  that  it  was 
genuinely  and  not  assumedly  offhand)  : 
"  Could  you  lend  me  such  a  thing  as  a 
penny,  Mrs.  Child  ?  "  That  was  only  a 
little  thing,  it  is  true,  but  it  helped  to  un- 
deceive Lot.  She  marvelled ;  she  knew 
she  could  not  have  done  that  herself. 

Mrs.  Schneider,  when  she  arrived,  soon 
put  at  rest  everyone's  fears  in  regard  to 
the  alien  invasion.  Just  imagine — she 
could  speak  English  !  (In  spite  of  her 
having  written  an  English  letter,  it  had 
been  impossible  for  the  Childs  not  to  picture 
her  as  communicating  with  them  solely 
by  sign  and  gesture  when  she  arrived  at 
the  farm.)  She  turned  out  to  be  very 
English  indeed.  Whatever  there  was  of 
German  was  in  her  husband,  and  that  was 
an  exceedingly  remote  strain.  In  her  sur- 
prise, feeling  that  someone  must  be  German, 
Mrs.  Child  half  expected  that  little  Gus 
Schneider,  who  hung  fast  asleep  on  his 
father's  shoulder,  was  the  alien.  But  this 
last  illusion  was  shattered  when  from  the 
fastness  of  his  room  little  Gus  shouted  out 
in  revolt  against  some  cleansing  measures 
that  were  evidently  being  taken  against 

48 


ALIENS 

him.  That  fit  of  naughtiness  had  a  purely 
English  sound. 

Mr.  Schneider  was  understood  to  be  in  a 
very  good  way  of  business  in  London. 
Mrs.  Schneider  was  stout  and  red  and 
fringed,  and  was  vaguely  reminiscent  of  the 
saloon  bar.  Could  that  be  Mr.  Schneider's 
very  good  business  ?  Was  Mrs.  Schneider 
a  prosperous  publican's  wife — not,  of  course, 
having  any  truck  with  such  things  as 
counters  and  glasses  now,  but  acquainted 
with  those  things  in  the  past  ? 

Mrs.  Schneider  thought  everything  wTas 
very  quaint,  and  kept  appealing  for  con- 
firmation of  that  impression  from  Henry 
her  husband,  and  from  Flo  the  nurse.  Not 
only  quaint,  but  humorous.  There  was 
an  endless  store  of  fun  for  her  in  the  bucolic 
habit  of  life.  At  the  end  of  that  first 
evening  Mrs.  Schneider  said  to  the  nurse, 
with  whom  she  was  on  terms  of  a  gay 
friendship  :  "Of  course  you'll  be  up  early 
in  the  morning  pickin'  mushrooms  ?  " 
They  were  upstairs  on  the  landing  and  were 
just  going  to  bed,  Lot  carrying  their  hot 
water.  "  Oh,  of  course"  said  Flo,  and 
then  they  burst  into  the  laughter  which, 
however,  could  do  only  suppressed  justice  to 
the  joke,  because  of  Gus. 

Mrs.    Schneider   must   have   been   very 

49  E 


LOT  BARROW 

slow  to  undress,  for  Lot  had  actually  fallen 
asleep  and  was  awakened  by  a  sound  of 
fitful  singing  which  came  in  to  her  through 
her  open  door.  The  song  Mrs.  Schneider 
sang  as  she  undressed  was  a  sentimental 
ballad.  The  tune  went  right  to  Lot's 
heart,  and  some  words  which  were  repeated 
from  time  to  time  struck  her  with  a  cruelly 
intense  emotion  : 

"  I  loved  you  in  life  too  little, 
I  love  you  in  death  too  well." 

Lot  writhed  in  her  bed,  and  said :  "I 
can't  bear  it."  To  say  that  it  was  sweet  to 
her,  or  to  say  that  it  was  sad,  does  not 
seem  to  say  very  much.  Imagine  sadness 
and  sweetness  carried  to  the  point  when 
they  seem  to  need  something  more  than  a 
human  heart  to  hold  them. 

When  Lot  called  Mrs.  Schneider  in  the 
morning  she  was  told  to  go  and  ask  Flo  how 
many  mushrooms  she  had  got.  At  first 
Lot  carried  the  joke  somewhat  heavily, 
but  when  she  took  back  the  much-appre- 
ciated answer  ("  Say  I've  got  a  lovely 
basket  for  breakfast,"  Flo  had  said  from 
her  bed),  she  was  infected  by  so  much 
humour,  and  gave  a  little  involuntary  laugh. 

That  morning  was  notable  for  the  intro- 
duction of  Gus.  Gus  fully  awake  was  quite 

50 


ALIENS 

unlike  Gus  half-asleep.  It  was  notable  also, 
in  a  humbler  manner,  for  the  departure 
of  Mr.  Schneider  who,  having  established 
his  family,  returned  to  London,  to  his  very 
good  way  of  business.  He  had  enjoyed 
his  brief  excursion.  "  Well,  it  seems  to  be 
a  very  pretty  part,  all  round  this  part." 
Thus  he  expressed  himself  before  he  went. 

At  first  the  four-year-old  Gus  was  a  very 
popular  character.  He  seemed  to  be  every- 
where at  once — a  little  human  machine 
made  on  purpose  to  touch  everything  it 
could  reach.  If  something,  such  as  a  hen, 
attempted  to  elude  his  grasp,  and  made  a 
desperate  dash  for  life  and  dignity,  Gus  was 
so  diverted  that  it  was  as  much  as  he  could 
do  to  give  chase.  He  would  frequently 
escape  by  himself  out  into  the  yard  and, 
from  the  pure  joy  of  giving  chase,  be  so 
overcome  with  laughter,  all  alone  out  there, 
that  he  could  only  stumble  along  the  ground, 
impeded  by  his  breathless  peals  of  laughter. 
Which  gave  the  hen  a  gleam  of  hope. 

It  was  Mrs.  Child  who,  at  the  end  of  a 
week  or  so,  first  lost  patience,  and  Jennie 
speedily  followed  suit.  Mr.  Child  was  so 
much  afield  that  he  saw  but  little  of  the 
boy,  and  the  day  of  his  wrath  was  not  yet. 
And  it  was  no  great  agony  of  mind  to  Lot 
to  see  Mrs.  Child's  furniture  scratched,  and 

51 


LOT  BARROW 

She  led  Gus  into  the  sitting-room,  and 
in  a  different  tone  suggested  to  his  mother 
that  he  might  be  detained  there.  Mrs. 
Schneider,  who  had  been  sitting,  stout  and 
inactive,  in  her  chair,  now  shook  Gus  with 
her  many-ringed  hands. 

"  You  little  wretch  !  "  she  said.  "  You've 
been  troublesome  again.  What  can  become 
of  such  a  wicked  boy  ?  My  lovely  angel, 
what  is  it  makes  you  naughty  ?  Tell 
mother.  He's  never  like  this  at  home,  Mrs. 
Child.  Do  you  want  to  send  your  blessed 
mother  to  the  grave,  Gussie  ?  Ah,  here's 
dinner." 

Lot,  in  great  dejection,  was  carrying  in 
the  dinner.  At  this  very  moment  Mr. 
Bravery's  dinner  was  being  taken  to  him 
by  Jennie.  By  Jennie  !  When  it  might 
so  easily  have  been  arranged  the  other  way. 
Lot  felt  very  low.  She  was  starved  of 
human  love  and  kindness.  She  had  been 
so  busy  lately  that  she  had  seen  little  of  Mr. 
Bravery.  And  yet  if  it  had  not  been  that 
she  counted  on  seeing  Mr.  Bravery  often, 
she  would  long  ago  have  left  the  farm  and 
gone  somewhere  far  away,  where  she  would 
have  confided  to  someone  all  her  past 
trouble,  and  been  loved  and  pitied. 

But  that  afternoon,  when  Mrs.  Child 
was  in  her  room,  and  Mrs.  Schneider  was 

54 


ALIENS 

lying  in  the  meadow  in  the  sun,  and  Flo 
had  taken  little  Gus  for  a  walk,  and  all 
the  house  was  very  quiet,  Lot,  after  much 
restless  pacing  to  and  fro,  ventured  to  go  to 
Mr.  Bravery's  door  and  knock.  He  called 
out  to  her  in  his  heart-stirring  voice  to 
come  in. 

"  Are  you  all  right  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I 
just  thought  I'd  see  if  you  wanted  for 
anything."  She  smiled  at  him  rather  ner- 
vously. 

"  Hallo,  Lot ;  isn't  this  Thursday,  and 
don't  you  go  out  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Thursday's  my  day,  and  I  could 
go  if  I  liked,  but  somehow  I  don't  want  to. 
I  don't  want  to  go  alone." 

"  You  generally  go  off  happily  enough, 
don't  you  ?  "  he  said.  "  Why,  Lot,  it 
seems  to  me  that  I  have  even  heard  whispers 
of  your  being  back  late." 

"  Yes,"  she  said.  "  I  have  had  some  good 
times  up  on  the  top  of  the  hills  there. 
I  run,  sir.  I  can  run  like  lightning.  .  .  . 
But  to-day  I  am  tired  of  being  alone.  I 
was  alone  all  night." 

He  looked  surprised.  *'  Are  you  not 
always  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes ;  but  I  was  awake,  and  so  I 
noticed  it." 

He  grieved  for  her. 

55 


LOT  BARROW 

"  I  would  like  to  make  you  happier," 
he  said.  "  You  must  let  me  try.  I  sup- 
pose there  is  no  chance,  Lot,  of  you  and 
your  young  man  being  friends  again  ?  ': 

"  I  don't  think  so,  sir."  She  looked 
miserable,  and  breathed  hard.  But  sud- 
denly a  startled  wave  of  red  colour  came 
over  her  pale  face,  and  she  said :  "I  hear 
Mrs.  Child  moving,  sir  ;  she  will  be  coming 
down."  She  vanished  and  closed  the  door 
silently. 

That  evening  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Child  were 
standing  at  the  door  leading  into  the 
garden  when  Mrs.  Schneider  and  Flo 
strolled  by.  Lot  was  sitting  in  the  kitchen. 
She  overheard  Mrs.  Schneider  say  :  "  Isn't 
the  moon  lovely  ?  What  a  white  appear- 
ance it  casts  over  everything !  "  Mrs. 
Child,  who  had  a  kind  of  passionate  feeling 
for  Nature,  replied  ;  and  they  all  entered 
into  friendly  conversation  and  sauntered 
together  down  the  garden-path  to  the 
meadow-gate,  where  the  view  of  the  sky 
was  wider. 

Humphrey  was  in  bed.  Jennie  had  long 
gone  home.  Lot  heard  a  step  not  very  far 
from  the  kitchen  door.  Mr.  Bravery  had 
evidently  come  out  of  his  room  and  was 
strolling  about  the  passages,  as  he  some- 

56 


ALIENS 

times  did,  to  get  movement  and  a  change 
of  scene.  Perhaps  he  would  come  to  the 
kitchen.  Lot  followed  the  sound  of  his 
footsteps  as  a  traveller  might  listen  in  a 
jungle.  He  came  and  went,  and  she 
touched  the  extreme  poles  of  joy  and  despair. 

But  at  last  he  came  right  to  the  kitchen 
door.  He  seemed  surprised  and  glad  to 
find  her  alone.  She  told  him  the  others 
were  down  by  the  meadow-gate. 

"  And  you  are  all  alone.  Quite  at  peace, 
I  hope,  Lot  ?  " 

"  Are  you,  sir  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  am,  and  I  always  will  be. 
So  should  everyone  be." 

Lot  thought  for  a  moment. 

"  But  sadder  things  happen  to  some 
people  than  what  happen  to  others,"  she 
argued. 

"  Yes,  and  that's  about  as  much  as  you 
can  say,"  said  Mr.  Bravery.  "  I  have  had 
trouble,  Lot.  In  many  ways  I  have  had 
what  I  suppose  would  be  called  a  wretched 
life.  But  can  I  truly  say  I  am  unhappy  ? 
Things  outside  me  have  happened,  but 
inside  I  maintain  a  level.  I  draw  my 
peace — perhaps  I  should  say  my  indifference 
— somehow,  from  somewhere.  Doesn't  it 
strike  you  as  a  great  thing  to  cease  to  care, 
and  then  an  easy  thing  to  cease  to  grieve?" 

57 


LOT  BARROW 

"  Then  there's  no  such  thing  as  saying 
you're  unhappy,"  said  Lot,  pliably,  thinking 
how  far  astray  she  had  gone  in  the  past. 

"  Saying  it  and  having  sympathy  may 
be  a  particular  need  with  you.  So  say  it 
if  you  must.  But  what  a  deceit  it  all  is. 
I  should  have  liked  it  to  be  different  with 
you,  Lot,"  he  said,  looking  at  her  with  the 
intensity  of  his  enthusiasm  in  his  eyes. 
"  I  have  a  feeling  in  regard  to  you  that  you 
might  be  brought  to  see  things  differently. 
With  some  people  one  cannot  feel  that—- 
splendid people  in  their  way,  perhaps,  like 
Mrs.  Child,  for  instance.  ..." 

Lot  felt  intensely  gratified  at  this. 

"  Oh,  her  !  "  she  agreed,  interrupting. 

"  But  I  would  like  you,  Lot,  to  have  the 
inner  assurance  that  your  peace  of  mind  is 
really  untouched  by  human  events." 

"  If  something  dreadful  happened  to 
you,  wouldn't  you  worry  to  death  ?  ': 

"  Not  I.  Providence  can  do  its  worst 
with  me,"  said  Mr.  Bravery.  "  I  don't 
fear  it.  It  would  never  even  have  the 
satisfaction  of  drawing  a  cry  from  me." 

"  Oh,"  said  Lot,  "  I  cried  for  a  whole 
day  and  a  whole  night.  Yes,  I  did.  Really. 
And,  sir,"  she  said,  lowering  her  voice, 
"  when  they  made  me — when  they  made  me 
do — something — I  screamed  and  screamed, 

58 


ALIENS 

almost  to  break  my  throat."  She  ran  to 
him  and  took  hold  of  his  sleeve.  "  Oh,  sir," 
she  said,  "  I  will  try  to  do  as  you  say. 
I  want  to  be  like  you.  Look,  I  won't  cry 
now."  She  brushed  her  tears  aw^ay.  "  If 
you  will  only  help  me  !  " 


59 


CHAPTER    SEVEN:    THE    BROKEN 
FLOWERS 

THE  end  of  June  was  anxiously  looked 
for  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Child,  who  now 
both  emphatically  preferred  little  Gus's 
room  to  his  company.  Yes,  Mr.  Child 
thought  so,  too,  now,  having  witnessed  a 
dispute  between  Gus  and  his  chickens, 
and  discovered  depredations  in  his 
garden. 

But  the  sight  of  the  unruly,  unattractive 
boy  brought  to  Humphrey  Child  the  first 
precious  pang  of  desire  for  fatherhood. 
It  became  an  exquisite  thing  to  him  just 
to  think  of  venting  stern  discipline  on  a 
wayward  child  of  his  own.  He  pictured 
certain  scenes  or  situations  of  a  strange, 
deep  attraction.  One  day  he  fancied  him- 
self leading  his  child  away  by  the  hand, 
and  a  shadowy,  startled  woman  standing  by. 
"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  him  ?  " 
that  woman  said.  "I'm  going  to  thrash 
him  because  he  told  a  lie."  "  Let  him  off, 
just  for  this  once.  Do,  because  I  ask  you 
to,"  the  woman  pleaded,  while  tears  ran 
down  her  beautiful,  pale  face.  "  A  fine  boy 

60 


THE  BROKEN  FLOWERS 

he'd  turn  out  if  I  did  !  "  Humphrey  fancied 
himself  replying,  with  some  scorn — but 
kindly,  because  she  was  so  unhappy,  and 
so  weak  in  comparison  with  his  strength, 
and  so  wonderfully  beautiful.  "  No,  I'll 
thrash  him  this  time,  and  then  perhaps  he 
won't  do  it  again." 

Humphrey  straightened  himself  up  from 
his  dreaming  and  looked  through  the 
window  out  into  the  garden,  and  there, 
strangely  enough,  saw  on  a  woman's  face 
just  such  a  startled,  fearful  look  as  that 
which  had  been  in  his  mind.  Yes,  and  the 
aspect  was  the  same  as  that  of  the  woman 
he  had  involuntarily  pictured.  So  identified 
was  that  face  with  the  phantom  of  his 
dream  that  it  took  him  a  few  seconds  to 
recognise  Lot. 

Lot  had  just  been  discovered  at  fault, 
and  that  was  the  look  she  always  wore 
when  Mrs.  Child's  sharp,  protesting  voice 
of  discovery  first  smote  on  her  ears.  Some 
tall  lilies  lay  broken  on  the  garden  bed. 
For  Lot  had  hung  out  her  washing  too  far 
down  the  line,  and  damp  sheets  had  waved 
in  the  breeze  and  snapped  the  tall  lily- 
stems. 

Humphrey  wandered  out  into  the  garden, 
faintly  interested  to  know  what  Lot  had 
done  now.  Each  woman  was  so  angry,  in 


LOT  BARROW 

her  own  way,  that  his  presence  was  scarcely 
observed. 

"  Don't  you  suppose  that  Tm  sorry 
too  ?  "  Lot  was  saying,  with  strangely  de- 
fiant words,  considering  that  she  looked 
thoroughly  frightened.  "  Don't  you  think 
that  I  cared  for  those  lilies  too  ?  Per- 
haps I  liked  them  even  more  than  you 
did  !  " 

"  I  hope  you'll  never  like  me,  my  girl," 
said  Mrs.  Child  with  some  scorn.  "  Judging 
by  appearances,  I  should  say  it  wasn't  safe 
to  be  liked  by  you." 

Perhaps  there  was  a  double  meaning  in 
this.  Any  colour  in  Lot's  face  vanished, 
and  she  looked  almost  plain  now  in  her 
passion. 

"  I  loved  them  and  I  broke  them,"  she 
said,  loudly.  "  Your  not  believing  things 
doesn't  make  them  not  true,  you  know." 
She  smiled  an  ugly,  taunting  smile. 

Mrs.  Child  was  conscious  now  that  this 
girl  was  angrier  than  she  herself  ever  was. 
She  always  had  a  respect  for  extremes,  and 
even  though  this  was  an  extreme  of  evil, 
she  felt  vaguely  impressed,  and  only  replied 
to  Lot  with  a  mild  remark  about  the 
possibility  of  Mr.  Child's  binding  up  the 
flowers. 

As  for  Lot,  she  went  up  to  her  room  and 

62 


THE  BROKEN  FLOWERS 

suffered  the  most  cruel  reaction  from  her 
outburst  of  temper.  She  was  in  that  sad 
state  of  mind  when  little  griefs  served  the 
deadly  purpose  of  carrying  her  straight  to 
the  big  grief — like  a  sun  fed  by  meteorites. 
So  she  lay  and  sobbed  and  moaned  on  her 
bed. 


LOT  BARROW 

her  own  way,  that  his  presence  was  scarcely 
observed. 

"  Don't  you  suppose  that  Tm  sorry 
too  ?  "  Lot  was  saying,  with  strangely  de- 
fiant words,  considering  that  she  looked 
thoroughly  frightened.  "  Don't  you  think 
that  I  cared  for  those  lilies  too  ?  Per- 
haps I  liked  them  even  more  than  you 
did  !  " 

"  I  hope  you'll  never  like  me,  my  girl," 
said  Mrs.  Child  with  some  scorn.  "  Judging 
by  appearances,  I  should  say  it  wasn't  safe 
to  be  liked  by  you." 

Perhaps  there  was  a  double  meaning  in 
this.  Any  colour  in  Lot's  face  vanished, 
and  she  looked  almost  plain  now  in  her 
passion. 

"  I  loved  them  and  I  broke  them,"  she 
said,  loudly.  "  Your  not  believing  things 
doesn't  make  them  not  true,  you  know." 
She  smiled  an  ugly,  taunting  smile. 

Mrs.  Child  was  conscious  now  that  this 
girl  was  angrier  than  she  herself  ever  was. 
She  always  had  a  respect  for  extremes,  and 
even  though  this  was  an  extreme  of  evil, 
she  felt  vaguely  impressed,  and  only  replied 
to  Lot  with  a  mild  remark  about  the 
possibility  of  Mr.  Child's  binding  up  the 
flowers. 

As  for  Lot,  she  went  up  to  her  room  and 

62 


THE  BROKEN  FLOWERS 

suffered  the  most  cruel  reaction  from  her 
outburst  of  temper.  She  was  in  that  sad 
state  of  mind  when  little  griefs  served  the 
deadly  purpose  of  carrying  her  straight  to 
the  big  grief — like  a  sun  fed  by  meteorites. 
So  she  lay  and  sobbed  and  moaned  on  her 
bed. 


CHAPTER  EIGHT:   JENNIE  TO   THE 
CAT 

"  T    OT  !    Lot  Barrow  !  "  Humphrey  called 
I  j     at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  ;  "  mother 
says  will  you  hurry  down  and  clean  those 
knives !  " 

It  was  on  the  verge  of  a  certain  blessed 
departure,  and  Mrs.  Child,  who  was  the 
most  scrupulous  and  indefatigable  hostess, 
wanted  the  Schneiders  to  have  a  sub- 
stantial, leisurely  meal  before  they  left  to 
catch  their  train.  A  suitable  send-off  de- 
manded somehow  that  Lot  should  have 
changed  her  dress,  and  she  was  getting  late. 
She  came  down  while  Humphrey  was 
still  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  fixing  a  rod 
which  he  had  kicked  loose.  She  was 
flushed  with  hurrying  into  a  new  starched 
bodice,  which  she  had  somewhat  over- 
grown, and  as  Humphrey  stood  up  to  let 
her  go  by  his  eye  was  attracted  by  her 
unusual  colour,  and  he  was  led  to  consider 
her  strong  young  beauty.  How  indiffer- 
ently she  was  passing  him  on  the  stairs, 
without  even  so  much  as  a  glance  from 
those  eyes  of  hers  with  their  strange,  mixed 

64 


JENNIE  TO  THE  CAT 


look  of  purposefulness  and  abstraction  ! 

"  Lot,"  he  said  awkwardly,  in  a  tone 
that  he  had  never  used  before,  "  there's  a  lot 
of  knives  to-day.  Aren't  they  tiresome  ? ' ' 

It  did  not  take  Lot  a  moment  to  recognise 
her  power,  even  though  she  was  so  pleased 
at  this  sign  of  a  human  link  of  any  kind 
as  to  be  half-incredulous. 

Her  head  sunk  a  little  to  one  side.  She 
had  stopped  when  he  spoke  and  turned  to 
look  at  him,  but  now  she  did  something 
more  effectual  even  than  looking  at  him. 
Her  eyelids  dropped  down  over  her  eyes 
with  incredible  slowness.  The  air  was  full 
of  the  sweetest  embarrassment.  She  said 
in  a  voice  that  was  half  a  whisper : 

'I  do  hate  the  knives." 

When  the  Schneiders  had  gone  Lot  and 
Jennie  set  to  work  to  restore  their  rooms  to 
order,  and  Mrs.  Child,  suffering  from  the 
want  of  a  visit  to  London,  which  had 
necessarily  been  postponed,  sat  quietly 
in  her  chair  in  the  kitchen,  ready  enough 
to  utter  a  bitter  comment,  however,  on 
any  sample  of  inefficiency  that  should  come 
under  her  notice.  The  two  girls  came  back 
to  the  kitchen  for  their  tea.  Lot  was 
feeling  very  uneasy  in  her  mind,  but  she 
tried  to  look  normally  placid  before  Mrs. 
Child. 

65  F 


LOT  BARROW 

Every  now  and  then,  as  she  drank  the 
tea  she  had  been  wanting  for  the  last  hour, 
Lot  had  an  unpleasant  little  pang  of 
memory.  She  knew  exactly  how  she  had 
slowly  dropped  her  eyes  before  Humphrey. 
It  had  been  an  unpremeditated  act,  but 
not  an  unprecedented  one.  The  reason 
that  it  had  come  naturally  to  her  to  do  it 
was  because  she  had  done  it  once  before 
when  she  felt  a  man's  admiring  eyes  upon 
her.  That  was  why  she  felt  a  strange, 
internal  shuddering  now.  She  swore  that 
she  would  never  do  that  again. 

But  Jennie,  on  the  other  hand,  was 
enjoying  her  tea  in  too  light-hearted  a 
fashion  for  Mrs.  Child's  overstrung  nerves. 

"  Do  get  outside  and  clean  the  boots, 
Jennie,"  she  said.  (To-morrow  was  market- 
day,  and  the  boots  of  Mr.  Child  and  Hum- 
phrey always  had  special  treatment.)  "  I 
always  think  that  nowadays  an  idle  girl 
expects  the  work  to  do  itself.  When  I 
was  your  age  I  took  my  tea  standing." 

Jennie,  quite  unperturbed,  went  to  the 
place  outside  the  kitchen,  and  commenced 
a  cheerful  attack  on  the  boots.  Lot  cleared 
the  tea.  The  big  grey  cat,  Tom,  whom 
Mrs.  Child,  with  a  secret  tenderness,  toler- 
ated on  her  knees  during  her  periods  of 
enforced  inactivity,  jumped  down  on  to 

66 


JENNIE  TO  THE  CAT 

the  floor,  and,  with  many  pausings  and 
stretchings,  followed  Jennie  outside. 

"  That's  right,  dear  !  "  said  Jennie,  in  a 
voice  which  was  perfectly  audible  in  the 
kitchen.  "  Come  and  comfort  Jennie.  Did 
you  'ear  her,  darlin'  ?  Did  you  'ear  what 
your  cruel  mother  said  to  Jennie  ?  She 
said  she  was  a  idle  girl !  There.  Wasn't 
that  a  shame,  darlin'  ?  She  doesn't  know 
how  Jennie's  been  slavin'  her  fingers  to  the 
bone,  does  she, — an'  we  shan't  tell  her 
either,  shall  we,  darlin'  ?  )! 

Lot  was  amazed  at  this  temerity,  and 
glanced  at  Mrs.  Child  to  see  if  an  outburst 
was  coming.  But  Mrs.  Child  only  said : 
"  What  a  fuss  she  does  make  over  that 
animal !  " 

It  was  now  Lot's  duty  to  go  down  to 
the  dairy  and  make  up  the  butter  into 
half-pound  divisions  ready  for  to-morrow. 
The  dairy  was  always  spoken  of  as  "  down," 
though  it  was  only  one  worn  stone  step 
lower  than  the  rest  of  the  ground  floor. 
"  Down  in  the  dairy  "  made  a  good  round 
phrase.  Lot,  stepping  into  the  cool,  dark 
room  with  her  lighted  candle,  found  Hum- 
phrey waiting  for  her  there.  He  had 
come  in  by  the  outside  door. 

"  Goodness  !  "  she  said  ;  "  you  gave  me 
a  turn.  Do  you  want  a  drink  of  milk  ?  " 

67 


LOT  BARROW 

"  No — oh,  well,  yes,  I'll  have  a  drop." 

"  Here  you  are,  then.  Hold  the  candle, 
just  a  minute.  It  would  be  a  nice  thing 
if  I  gave  it  to  you  from  the  wrong  pan  !  " 

"  You  taste  it  first,"  said  Humphrey, 
when  she  passed  it  to  him,  "  and  then  you 
can  tell  me  whether  it's  creamy." 

"  Oh,  I  never  do  ;  I  never  touch  it.  I 
suppose  it's  seeing  it  so  much." 

"  Yes,  but  you  would  taste  it  just  this 
once,  because  I  ask  you  to." 

"  That  I  won't,"  said  Lot.  "  That's  no 
reason."  All  her  afternoon's  horror  of  her- 
self cleared  away  after  she  had  said  that. 

Humphrey  put  down  the  cup  on  the  long 
deal  table.  Lot  saw  with  a  dim  feeling  of 
gratification  that  he  did  not  mean  to  drink 
it  himself,  in  that  case. 

"  Are  you  disappointed  ?  "  she  asked,  a 
little  archly ;  and  then  immediately  her 
face  stiffened,  because  she  became  once 
more  dreadful  to  herself. 

"  Oh,  well,  I'm  used  to  disappointments," 
Humphrey  answered,  indifferently,  and 
strolled  away  from  the  dairy. 

That  evening  he  did  not  go  to  bed  early 
to  think  of  dark  waves,  and  ropes,  and  a 
long  wet  deck.  He  went  out  alone.  He 
crept  out  before  Mr.  Child  had  finished  his 
evening  meal,  or  his  father  would  almost 

68 


JENNIE  TO  THE  CAT 

inevitably  have  been  only  too  glad  to 
accompany  him.  He  went  and  stood  at 
the  end  of  the  village  to  see  if  any  pretty 
girls  should  pass  by. 


69 


CHAPTER  NINE :  THUNDER  AND 
LIGHTNING 

WHEN  the  bell  made  its  sudden,  shrill 
sound  in  the  kitchen,  Mrs.  Child 
always  went  to  the  front  door  herself ; 
she  liked  to  see  who  came  and  went,  and 
if  anyone  was  to  have  that  quite  consider- 
able benefit  of  exchanging  words  with  a 
fellow-being,  why  should  it  not  be  she  ? 
During  a  whole  afternoon,  sometimes,  she 
only  got  out  of  her  chair  when  that  sur- 
prising bell  sounded.  Though  she  often 
grumbled,  as  she  went,  that  the  ringing 
had  been  too  short  or  too  long,  she  was 
never  anything  but  pleased  and  curious. 

She  loved  to  exercise  her  tongue,  both 
sharply  and  softly.  It  was  pleasant  enough 
to  discuss  the  weather  or  the  crops  (both 
matters  about  which  Mrs.  Child  had  expert 
knowledge)  with  a  friendly  passer-by  ;  but 
perhaps  what  afforded  her  the  keenest 
gratification  was  to  exchange  words  with 
some  business  man  who  was  bent  on  making 
rather  too  good  a  bargain  for  himself,  or 
with  the  grocer  who  had  sent  bad  sugar. 
Mrs.  Child  dealt  with  these  slowly  but 

70 


THUNDER  AND  LIGHTNING 

surely.  Mr.  Bravery,  whose  door,  near 
the  front  door,  often  stood  ajar,  sometimes 
overheard  these  conversations ;  and  he 
and  Mrs.  Child  would  make  their  comments 
afterwards.  If  there  had  been  a  passage 
of  arms,  Mr.  Bravery  generally  had  occasion 
to  congratulate  Mrs.  Child  on  a  victory. 

One  day,  when  a  cart  had  stopped  out- 
side, Mrs.  Child  went  to  the  door  in  answer 
to  the  bell. 

"  Can  I  take  your  order  to-day  for  some 
oats,  ma'am  ?  "  said  the  man  standing 
there. 

'  Well,  we  weren't  at  all  well  served  by 
your  people,"  said  Mrs.  Child,  her  enjoy- 
ment of  the  conversation  mitigating  the 
more  conclusive  severity  with  which  she 
might  otherwise  have  spoken. 

"  Ah,  I  believe  a  very  careless  young  man 
came  on  this  round.  Well,  Mrs.  Child, 
I'm  happy  to  say  we've  sent  him  flying. 
Yes,  I  perfectly  recollect  the  young  man 
you  must  be  thinking  of :  he's  gone  pack- 
ing." 

'  Well,  that's  why  we  left  you,"  said  Mrs. 
Child,  settling  herself  comfortably  against 
the  door-post,  but  with  an  uncompromising 
expression  on  her  face.  "  Of  course  / 
don't  know  much  about  it,  but  I've  heard 
my  husband  speak  of  short  measure  and 

71 


LOT  BARROW 

all  sorts.  What  are  you  asking  for  oats 
now,  then  ?  " 

"  Nineteen  shillings." 

"  We've  been  paying  sixteen,"  said  Mrs. 
Child,  and  still  she  suppressed  her  enjoy- 
ment. 

"  Then  you  haven't  had  oats.  We  could 
sell  you  some  stuff  for  sixteen,  but  we 
couldn't  guarantee  it.  No,  we  couldn't 
guarantee  real  good  oats,  not  under  nine- 
teen." 

"  Well,  of  course  I  wouldn't  know  much 
about  it,  but  I  know  my  husband  has 
expressed  himself  very  satisfied.  What 
I  mean  to  say,  it's  a  big  difference — sixteen 
and  nineteen,  isn't  it  ?  ': 

No  doubt  the  traveller  began  to  feel  that 
he  had  failed  to  secure  a  customer,  and  he 
shifted  on  his  feet.  Mrs.  Child  observed 
these  signs  of  departure  with  disappoint- 
ment. Such  moderation  as  she  had  used 
should  have  secured  a  longer  debate. 

"  Well,  perhaps  you'll  mention  it  to  your 
husband,  and  I'll  call  again,"  said  the 
traveller,  as  he  turned  and  climbed  into  his 
cart.  Mrs.  Child  shut  the  door  and  heard 
Mr.  Bravery  calling  her.  She  went  into 
his  room. 

"  Haven't  they  an  impudence  ?  "  she 
said.  She  began  to  regret  that  she  had  not 

72 


THUNDER  AND  LIGHTNING 

been  more  severe.  She  picked  up  some 
fallen  petals  by  the  window,  and  rearranged 
the  curtains.  She  always  did  these  two 
things  when  she  came  to  talk  to  him. 

"  I  believe  that  man  wouldn't  mind  if 
he  never  saw  you  again,  Mrs.  Child,"  said 
Mr.  Bravery,  smiling. 

"  Oh,  we  haven't  done  with  him,"  said 
Mrs.  Child.  "  He'll  be  round  next  week 
saying  he's  got  something  new  in  at  seven- 
teen." 

Mr.  Bravery  stretched  himself  in  his 
chair.  He  had  been  very  hard  at  work  and 
enjoyed  the  relaxation. 

"  What's  the  weather  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  Thunder,  I  shouldn't  be  surprised," 
said  Mrs.  Child,  promptly. 

"  Well,  now,  if  they  would  give  us  a  real 
storm ! "  said  Mr.  Bravery.  He  went  to 
the  window  and  scanned  the  heavens. 
"  I  don't  think  I  could  keep  away  from  the 
hills  if  it  really  came  on  badly." 

"  Oh,  sir,  I  beg  you  wouldn't  go  up  there." 

Mr.  Bravery  was  curiously  without  senti- 
ment, or  he  might  have  been  touched  by 
the  keen  solicitude  in  her  voice.  As  it 
was,  he  quietly  accepted  the  fact  that  in 
going  he  would  alarm  her,  and  he  put  the 
idea  out  of  his  head.  It  was  only  too  easy 
to  check  his  enthusiasms. 

73 


LOT  BARROW 

"  Are  you  afraid  of  the  thunder  ?  " 

"  Not  to  say  frightened,  sir,  but  I'm 
always  glad  when  Mr.  Child  and  Humphrey 
are  safely  inside." 

"  Is  Lot  afraid  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Bravery, 
feeling,  somehow,  that  he  wished  to  speak 
her  name. 

"  I  couldn't  say.  I  hope  she  doesn't 
wrorry  you,  sir  ?  ': 

"  No,  no,  Mrs.  Child  ;  I'm  sorry  for  her." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Child.  "Well,  she's 
got  a  comfortable  home  here,  and  I'm  doing 
my  best  to  make  her  into  a  good,  useful 
girl." 

"  I  suppose  you  know  the  story  of  her 
unhappiness  ?  "  Mr.  Bravery  asked. 

"  Oh,  yes.  You  see,  my  sister,  Maude 
Cattermole,  has  lived  for  eighteen  years 
in  West  Corning,  where  Lot  comes  from  ; 
and  when  the  father  died  Maude  had  Lot 
in  to  stop  with  her,  and  wrote  to  me  to  see 
if  I  wouldn't  have  her." 

"  Well,  she'll  settle  down,  no  doubt," 
said  Mr.  Bravery,  not  mentioning  to  Mrs. 
Child  that,  by  enlightening  Lot  as  to  the 
unimportance  of  this  world's  griefs,  he 
believed  himself  able  to  bring  that  result 
about. 

It  was  not  until  bed-time  that  the  light- 
ning and  thunder  came ;  and  then  it  was 

74 


THUNDER  AND  LIGHTNING 

a  violent,  close  storm.  The  thunder  boomed 
between  the  hills,  and  the  lights  in  the 
cottages  of  the  low,  quiet  village  stayed 
alight.  At  Wiggonholt  Farm  they  had 
just  been  going  up  to  bed  when  the  first 
crash  came,  and  they  continued  to  sit  in 
a  quiet  little  group^inj^the  kitchen,  Mrs. 
Child  still  holding  the  clock  and  cup  of 
gruel  which  she  carried  to  bed  with  her. 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Child,  "if  anything 
gets  struck  it  will  be  the  big  elm-tree." 

"  Nothing  won't  get  struck,  my  girl," 
said  Mr.  Child,  reassuringly.  "It's  mostly 
out  at  sea  that  they  get  killed  off  like  flies." 
He  was  not  quite  sure  of  his  fact,  but  he  could 
never  let  an  opportunity  go  by.  He  did 
not  look  in  Humphrey's  direction ;  he 
only  trusted  that  the  words  had  gone 
home. 

"  I  daresay  I  shall  sleep  soundly  enough," 
said  Mrs.  Child.  "  What  about  you,  Lot  ?  " 

"  If  the  big  elm  gets  struck,"  said  Lot, 
"  I  daresay  I  shall  get  struck  too,  consider- 
ing my  little  room  juts  out  almost  touching 
it." 

"  Archibald,"  said  Mr.  Child,  addressing 
an  imaginary  footman,  "  prepare  the  blue 
boodwar  for  Miss  Barrow ;  she'll  sleep 
there  to-night." 

Even  Lot  laughed.     She  could  take  a 

75 


LOT  BARROW 

joke  from  him  which,  coming  from  Mrs. 
Child,  would  have  made  her  speechless 
with  anger.  But  Humphrey  remained 
grave,  filled  with  a  sudden  resentment 
against  his  father  for  trifling  with  Lot's 
feelings. 

In  the  midst  of  a  crash  which  sounded 
like  the  climax  of  heaven's  anger  venting 
itself  on  the  roof  of  the  farm,  Lot  looked  up 
and  saw  Mr.  Bravery  standing  at  the  door. 
His  coming  had  been  unheard,  of  course, 
and  he  was  still  seen  by  no  one  but  herself. 
She  faced  him.  His  eyes,  with  a  strange, 
slight  smile  in  them,  were  fixed  on  Lot. 
Gradually  the  tense  look  which  had  been 
on  her  face  as  she  listened  to  those  shattering 
sounds  melted  away,  and  she  smiled  slowly 
back  at  him.  She  had  an  instinctive 
knowledge  of  what  his  look  meant.  He  had 
felt  this  was  an  appropriate  time  to  press 
his  lesson  home.  It  was  as  if  she  had 
heard  him  say  :  "  You  and  I,  Lot,  don't 
mind  much  about  anything,  do  we."  And 
so  she  smiled  at  him  her  willing,  whole- 
hearted response.  If  she  could  have  put 
into  adequate  words  that  wave  of  acquies- 
cent feeling  that  came  over  her  as  their 
eyes  still  met,  she  would  have  said  :  "  No, 
we  don't  mind  about  life  or  death." 

It  was  only  rarely  that  she  had  doubts 

76 


THUNDER  AND  LIGHTNING 

of  what  he  taught  her.  "  I  wonder  if  he 
would  say  that  really  dreadful  things  don't 
matter,"  she  said  to  herself — and  then 
remembered  that  she  had  expressed  that 
doubt  to  him.  "  Yes,  he  said  anything. 
How  wonderful  to  think  that  nothing 
matters  !  Perhaps  some  day  I  shall  stop 
worrying.  I  thought  I  never  should  stop 
till  I  died." 

Yes,  it  was  splendid  comfort,  this  ;  and 
yet  it  actually  needed  some  courage,  some 
resolve,  to  repose  in  it.  Because  it  was  so 
impersonal.  Because  it  had  nothing  to  do 
with  one  person  loving  another,  and  helping 
and  consoling.  Mr.  Bravery  administered 
the  comfort,  it  is  true,  and  seemed  to  have 
a  real  desire  to  help  her,  but  she  knew 
that  it  was  his  ideas  that  he  was  chiefly 
interested  in,  and  not  in  Lot  as  an  individual 
made  up  of  body  as  well  as  brain.  Some- 
times after  talking  with  him  she  had  had 
a  curious  feeling  of  detachment  from  her 
own  body,  because  she  knew  he  had  been 
so  unaware  of  her  as  flesh  and  blood. 
"  Does  he  know  if  I  am  a  girl  or  a  boy  ?  " 
she  once  asked  herself.  "  Does  he  know 
that  I  am  more  beautiful  than  Jennie  ?  ': 

But  she  firmly  resolved  to  repose  in  that 
comfort  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  it  contained 
nothing  of  the  personal  tender  love  for 

77 


LOT  BARROW 

which  she  hankered.  She  knew  she  had 
power  over  Humphrey  to  make  him  love 
her,  but  she  did  not  exercise  it.  It  seemed 
to  her  an  infinitely  nobler  thing  to  follow 
Mr.  Bravery. 

Even  so,  she  had  often  been  tempted  to 
enjoy  Humphrey's  overtures,  and  it  was  a 
matter  of  stern  conscience  with  her  that 
she  should  not  allow  them.  It  would 
have  been  vaguely  pleasant  to  let  his 
admiration  take  the  form  of  little  secret 
smiles  and  hand-clasping,  and  services 
quietly  performed  for  her.  But  she  could 
never  escape  from  a  certain  horror  of  herself 
lest  she  should  allow  a  caress  from  one  she 
did  not  love.  Whatever  happened,  that 
must  not  be. 

Lot  would  be  grateful  that  Mr.  Bravery 
had  enlightened  her  as  to  the  unnecessity 
of  grief.  She  would  be  satisfied  with  that 
benefit.  If  some  day  he  should  appear  to 
notice  more  particularly  what  she  was 
in  herself,  if  he  should  ever  seem  to  have  a 
need  of  her,  and  like  to  spend  time  with 
her  better  than  spending  it  alone — ah,  that 
would  be  too  much  happiness. 

Lot  pondered  on  these  things  as  she  lay 
in  bed  on  the  night  of  the  storm.  The 
lightning  was  so  bright  that  she  could  see 
it  through  her  closed  eyelids.  The  night 

78 


THUNDER  AND  LIGHTNING 

was  very  still ;  there  was  no  wind,  and  the 
rain  had  not  begun  yet. 

She  heard  a  sound  outside — a  cracking 
in  the  branches  of  the  great  tree,  and  the 
sudden  stir  of  leaves.  In  the  darkness 
and  the  stillness  she  had  such  an  exaggerated 
notion  of  these  sounds  that  she  thought 
the  lightning  must  have  struck  the  tree  ; 
and  she  immediately  pictured  it  as  a  gaunt, 
dead  stump  that  she  had  been  used  to  see 
as  a  child.  For  some  time  she  did  not  stir, 
but  gradually  her  curiosity  overcame  the 
timid  reluctance  she  felt  to  getting  out  of 
bed.  She  lit  her  candle  and  crept  to  the 
window.  She  could  only  see  the  reflection 
of  her  room,  and  so  she  opened  the  window. 
Just  then  the  rain  began  to  fall  in  a  loud 
deluge. 

She  could  see  nothing,  and  was  going 
back  to  bed,  when  a  vivid  flash  of  lightning 
showed  her  the  tree,  with  Humphrey 
clinging  on  to  a  branch  not  more  than  six 
feet  below  her  window.  She  saw  his  up- 
turned face  and  crouching  figure,  and  though 
it  had  only  been  raining  for  a  few  moments, 
his  face  was  shining  with  wet  and  his 
clothes  were  drenched.  Then  it  was  dark 
again,  and  she  heard  him  call :  "  Lot !  " 

She  realised  now,  strangely  enough,  that 
she  had  heard  that  sound  before,  when  she 

79 


LOT  BARROW 

first  came  to  the  window,  but  had  neglected 
to  wonder  what  it  was. 

"  Humphrey  !  "  she  said  in  alarm,  "  what 
are  you  doing  ?  5: 

"  Don't  you  be  frightened."  Lot  could 
just  hear  his  voice  raised  against  the  rain. 
She  heard  him  scramble  up  until  he  was 
nearer  to  her ;  she  blew  out  her  light,  and 
could  see  more.  At  the  same  time  the 
rain  very  suddenly  became  less  loud. 

"  You'll  kill  yourself  !  "  Lot  said  pas- 
sionately. 

"  Pooh  !  "  said  Humphrey  ;  "  if  I  was 
on  board  ship  I  should  have  worse  to  do 
than  this." 

"  What  did  you  do  it  for  ?  You  must  be 
mad." 

"  I  did  it  because  you  were  afraid  of  the 
old  tree  going,"  said  Humphrey.  "  Why 
should  you  be  afraid,  and  everyone  else 
safe  and  sound  asleep  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  afraid."  Lot  spoke  again  with 
passion.  "  Go  away.  Why  should  you 
come  and  disturb  me  ?  " 

"  I  never  meant  to  disturb  you,"  said 
Humphrey,  defensively.  "  I  was  only  going 
to  stay  in  the  old  tree  till  the  lightning 
stopped.  And  I  shan't  go  because  you 
seem  to  hate  me,  either,"  he  added, 
bitterly. 

80 


THUNDER  AND  LIGHTNING 

"  I  don't  hate  you,"  said  Lot,  excitedly. 
She  clasped  her  hands  and  pressed  them  to 
her.  Now  all  her  emotion  is  revealed  as 
being  dread  of  herself — lest  she  should  be 
too  much  moved  and  excited  by  this  deed 
of  Humphrey's.  She  knows  she  can  be 
carried  away  by  the  feeling  of  a  moment. 

"  Go,  go,"  she  says,  while  Humphrey  at 
the  same  time  is  saying  :  "  Lot,  your  hand  !" 
And  she  leans  out  and  stretches  her  arm 
to  him.  "  Here  is  my  hand.  Kiss  it 
quickly — oh,  now  go." 

She  fled  to  her  bed,  and  Humphrey 
climbed  down  the  tree,  shaking  streams  of 
rain  to  the  ground. 


81 


CHAPTER  TEN :  ROUND  THE  FIELD 

ALL  the  next  day  Lot  was  looking  out 
for  an  opportunity  of  having  a 
conversation  with  Humphrey,  but  that 
opportunity  did  not  occur ;  indeed,  it  did 
not  occur  for  several  days.  It  is  true  there 
were  times  when  she  met  him  in  the  passages, 
or  he  might  hang  round  the  dairy  when  she 
was  there,  or  lurk  in  ambush  in  the  garden 
if  she  was  to  gather  vegetables  ;  but  what 
she  wanted  was  the  chance  of  a  quiet, 
uninterrupted  talk — a  talk  which  would 
not  necessarily  take  very  long,  but  must  be 
as  secret  as  the  grave.  In  the  meantime, 
Lot  was  content  to  bide  in  comparative 
peace.  She  had  taken  a  certain  grim  reso- 
lution; and  her  feeling  of  relief  and  self- 
righteousness  did  not  delay  until  the  reso- 
lution was  accomplished,  but  she  was 
comforted  from  the  moment  it  was  taken. 
The  day  after  the  storm  was  the  day  on 
which  Mr.  Bravery  was  expecting  his 
cousin  at  the  farm.  Miss  Marsy  was  a 
little  old  lady  whom  he  met  regularly  every 
year ;  they  were  used  to  take  a  summer 
excursion  together,  a  custom  pleasant  to 

82 


ROUND  THE  FIELD 

them  both.  Mr.  Bravery,  singularly  un- 
alive  to  new  emotions,  was  unusually 
tenacious  of  those  ties  which  had  been 
consecrated  by  time  or  reverent  association. 
Miss  Marsy  had  been  the  beloved  friend  of 
his  mother  ;  and  any  love-sick  girl  who 
might  have  come  to  the  disappointed 
conclusion  that  Mr.  Bravery  was  without 
a  heart,  would  have  been  robbed  of  even  the 
cold  comfort  of  that  opinion  could  she  have 
observed  his  relation  with  this  woman. 

Since  Mr.  Bravery  had  taken  up  his 
temporary  abode  at  Wiggonholt,  and  was 
in  love  with  the  country,  it  had  seemed  a 
good  idea  for  Miss  Marsy  to  join  him  there  ; 
the  little  watering-place  of  the  last  three 
years  had  begun  to  pall.  And  Miss  Marsy 
was  bringing  with  her  a  girl — her  niece — 
who  preferred  our  English  country  to  the 
sea.  That  this  was  a  girl  who  had  travelled 
much  abroad,  for  her  health,  and  who  had 
lately  lost  her  mother,  was  nearly  all  that 
Mr.  Bravery  knew  of  Miss  Marsy 's  com- 
panion. 

The  day  after  the  storm  was  cold  and 
intemperate — with  a  wind  that  blew  a  cold, 
grey  sky  up  from  the  north.  And  yet 
summer  was  very  visible  in  the  trees  and 
flowers :  it  was  a  strange  day.  Lot  was 
standing  in  the  garden  in  her  thin  cotton 


LOT  BARROW 

dress,  taking  down  from  the  long  line 
innumerable  white  garments,  and  throwing 
the  wooden  pegs  into  a  basket,  with  a  sure, 
careless  aim.  She  did  not  shiver,  because 
she  was  so  firm  and  solid  ;  but  she  turned 
a  little  paler  with  the  cold. 

Her  heart  leapt  up  when  she  saw  that 
Mr.  Bravery  was  near  her  ;  but  she  tried 
always  to  be  so  circumspect  before  him  ; 
and,  thinking  to  preserve  the  secret  of  a 
quick-beating  heart,  she  made  no  sign  of 
having  seen  him.  She  continued  to  un- 
fasten the  clothes,  only  smiling  slightly 
and  nervously  to  herself.  But  the  pegs  no 
longer  went  into  the  basket ;  they  scattered 
themselves  on  the  grass  around.  And,  in 
case  Mr.  Bravery  should  be  observing  this, 
she  turned  and  spoke  to  him. 

"  Does  she  like  flowers,  sir  ?  5:  A  rich 
bed  lay  between  them. 

"  My  cousin  ?     Oh,  yes,  particularly." 

Lot  smiled  shyly.  "  I  meant  the  younger 
lady." 

"  Miss  Fulleylove.  Well,  as  to  her  I  can 
only  guess,  because,  you  see,  I  don't  know 
her.  I  think  we  will  guess  that  she  does." 

"  Yes,"  said  Lot.  "  But  she  won't  like 
the  cold,  perhaps." 

"  No,  that's  unfortunate,"  said  Mr.  Bra- 
very, strolling  on. 

84 


ROUND  THE  FIELD 

And  indeed  at  that  very  time  Marjorie 
Fulleylove  was  remarking  to  Miss  Marsy, 
as  they  neared  their  journey's  end : 

"  Do  you  think  they'll  give  us  hot- water 
bottles  to-night  ?  They  can't  be  absolute 
heathens."  Though  she  was  a  person  of 
deep  religious  feeling,  she  was  occasionally 
a  little  loose  in  her  speech.  It  was  now 
faintly  amusing  to  her  to  pretend  that  the 
cult  of  the  hot  bottle  was  fully  as  important 
as  a  religion. 

Miss  Marsy,  who  kept  very  watchful 
eyes  upon  Marjorie,  said :  "  My  dear,  you 
must  be  warm.  If  the  person  does  not 
provide  you  with  one,  I  will  speak  to 
Raymond." 

Raymond  !  That  was  the  magic  word 
which  fell  on  Lot's  ears  when,  helping  Mrs. 
Child  to  carry  in  the  dinner,  she  heard 
Mr.  Bravery's  cousin  speak  his  name.  It 
would  be  difficult  to  imagine  what  a  strange 
grandeur  there  seemed  to  her  to  be  in  that 
name.  She  may  have  known  the  name 
before,  but  she  had  never  heard  it  spoken ; 
and  all  the  evening  she  made  gentle  in- 
ward repetitions  of  it,  saying  it  with  careful 
differentiation  between  the  two  syllables, 
and  feeling  it  to  be  full  of  sweetness  and  light 
and  gravity  and  romance.  To  speak  his 
name  seemed  to  bring  her  nearer  to  Mr. 

85 


LOT  BARROW 

Bravery,  and  yet  the  name  had  some  vague 
quality  that  kept  her  aloof.  It  was  the  last 
word  that  formed  itself  in  her  brain  before 
she  slept. 

The  next  day  was  Thursday — the  day 
on  which  Lot  was  allowed  to  go  out  for  the 
afternoon.  On  this  occasion  she  had  a 
companion.  Mrs.  Child  had  ceased  to  be 
under  an  obligation  to  Jennie  Webster 
with  the  departure  of  the  Schneiders,  but 
Jennie  was  still  in  the  village,  and  had 
exacted  a  promise  from  Lot  that  they 
should  climb  the  hills  together. 

They  came  down  from  the  hills,  and  Jennie 
walked  home  with  Lot,  and  they  arrived 
at  Wiggonholt  at  six  o'clock.  They  had 
come  along  at  a  good  pace,  but  their  faces, 
shone  upon  by  the  low  sun,  had  the  faint 
colour  that  looks  like  freshness  rather  than 
like  heat. 

Two  people  were  leaving  the  farm  as 
they  approached.  Mr.  Bravery  and  Miss 
Fulleylove  were  setting  out  for  a  walk, 
and  they  stopped  Jennie  and  Lot  in  the 
road. 

"  How  far  did  you  go  ? "  asked  Mr. 
Bravery,  who  always  took  a  practical 
interest  in  other  people's  walks.  "  Jennie 
is  a  friend  of  Lot's,  Marjorie." 

Jennie,   whose   eyes   had   been   glowing 

86 


ROUND   THE   FIELD 

with  suppressed  tidings,  now  burst  out : 

"  You  should  ha'  seen  her  run  !  Miss, 
she  ran  like  the  wind.  When  we  got  up 
on  top  there,  she  said,  '  I'll  race  you,'  and 
we  started  going,  and  in  a  minute  she  was 
so  far  away  that  she  couldn't  hear  me  call. 
An'  I  thought  she'd  never  stop.  An'  then 
she  ran  back  again,  and  she  hadn't 
turned  a  hair." 

"  It  must  be  nice  to  run  like  that,"  said 
Marjorie.  "  I  have  sometimes  dreamt  that 
I  was  running  without  feeling  tired.  Now 
I  believe  I  could  get  just  about  as  far  as 
that  tree."  She  swung  her  delicate  body 
round,  to  find  her  tree,  and  laughed  a  little, 
as  if  in  apology  for  speaking  of  herself. 
She  was  beautifully  clothed,  and  the  two 
other  girls  stared  impressively  at  her  while 
she  spoke. 

"  You  like  running,  Lot  ?  "  Mr.  Bravery 
said,  in  his  kind,  indifferent  manner,  as  he 
began  to  think  of  moving  on. 

"  Oh,  I  was  always  known  for  it,"  said 
Lot,  rather  boastfully,  in  her  desire  to 
impress  him.  "  At  school  they  called  me 
'  Lot  the  runner.'  Running's  nothing  to 
me  ;  it's  like  walking." 

Lot,  by  design,  entered  the  farm  by  a 
side  door  which  led  into  the  yard.  She 
parted  with  Jennie,  but  did  not  go  straight 

87 


LOT  BARROW 

on  into  the  house  ;  Mrs.  Child  would  not 
be  looking  for  her  until  half-past  six. 

Humphrey  was  clattering  about  in  the 
stable  ;  Lot  heard  him  there,  but  she  was 
cautious,  in  case  Mr.  Child  should  be  with 
him.  She  stood  by  a  pig-pen  and  listened 
for  voices — not  that  that  was  a  decisive 
test,  for  Mr.  Child  and  Humphrey  often 
worked  for  an  hour  or  two  side  by  side 
without  breaking  silence,  if  Humphrey  was 
in  one  of  his  sullen  moods.  While  she 
waited  she  watched  four  young  pigs  sleeping 
in  the  pen,  and  tried  to  identify  them  by 
their  respective  names  of  Porker,  Grunter, 
Bristles  and  Snout.  Their  distinguishing 
signs  were  hopelessly  unremarkable  in  their 
merged  slumber. 

Lot  was  calm,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
she  was  going  to  speak  of  intimate  and 
dreadful  things.  Finding  her  opportunity, 
and  speaking,  and  fulfilling  thus  the  object 
she  had  at  heart,  were  the  things  that 
filled  her  mind,  rather  than  the  horror 
itself.  And  so  she  would  speak  calmly  and 
fully  of  what  at  another  time  had  power  to 
make  her  quake  and  shudder  when  a  mere 
hint  of  a  memory  came  into  her  mind. 

Humphrey  came  to  one  of  the  doors  in 
the  long  line  of  outbuildings,  and  did  not 
at  first  see  Lot ;  the  broad  sun  was  sinking 

88 


ROUND  THE  FIELD 

right  in  front  of  him,  on  his  eye-level.  He 
stretched  his  elbows  out  to  the  sides  of  the 
narrow  door,  and  as  he  stretched  himself 
he  was  so  tall  that  his  head  barely  escaped 
the  lintel.  Lot  watched  his  lazy,  unhappy, 
handsome  face  for  a  sign  that  she  was  seen  ; 
and  soon  she  began  to  saunter  along 
towards  the  farther  meadow,  knowing  that 
the  movement  of  her  light  dress  must 
attract  his  eye.  As  she  did  so,  she  turned 
and  looked  at  him. 

She  saw  him  start  slightly,  and  perceived 
his  intention  to  follow  her  even  before  he 
had  actually  taken  a  step.  For  Humphrey 
had  a  slow  careless  dignity  of  movement, 
and  he  paused  slightly  before  he  strolled 
after  her.  He  caught  her  up  in  the  meadow, 
and  there  they  walked,  out  of  view  of  the 
house,  round  and  round,  hardly  conscious 
of  the  earth  or  the  sky,  only  conscious  of  a 
voice  which  was  Lot's  voice. 

When  they  had  been  three  times  round 
the  field  Lot  paused  as  they  came  to  the 
gate. 

"  That's  all,"  she  said.  "  Mrs.  Child'll  be 
at  me  if  I'm  late." 

"  I  don't  care,"  said  Humphrey,  roughly. 
"I've  not  finished  yet.  Look  here,  Lot." 
He  took  hold  of  her  arm  rather  cruelly. 
"  What  do  you  think  all  this  is  going  to^do 

89 


LOT  BARROW 

for  me  ?  Do  you  think  I'm  going  to  want 
you  any  less  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Lot,  a  little  be- 
wildered. "  I've  told  you  because  I  don't 
want  you  to  come  round  making  love  to  me." 

"  Why  shouldn't  I  do  that,  if  you  will 
love  me  and  marry  me  ?  " 

"  Oh,  but  I  don't  love  you,"  said  Lot 
simply. 

"  But  you  will,  you  will,"  said  Humphrey, 
shaking  her  arm. 

Lot  lifted  her  head  with  a  rather  super- 
cilious smile. 

"  What  makes  you  say  that  ?  "  She 
had  a  precious  secret  thought  of  Mr.  Bravery, 
whom  she  loved. 

**  Because  I  want  you  to." 

"  Oh,"  said  Lot,  with  the  same  smile. 
"  Do  you  always  get  what  you  want  ? 
I  understood  you  wanted  to  go  to  sea,  but 
you  haven't  gone,  have  you  ?  ': 

Humphrey  looked  at  her  powerlessly 
for  a  moment,  and  then  turned  and  walked 
away  across  the  field  alone. 


90 


CHAPTER  ELEVEN:   BETTER  THAN 
TO  BE  UNHAPPY 

BUT  the  memory  of  him  stayed  in  Lot's 
mind.  It  must  be  remembered  that 
she  laboured  always  under  the  oppression 
of  Mrs.  Child's  proximity,  and  suffered  all 
the  misery  of  the  persistent  fear  and  hatred 
that  possessed  her.  And  Humphrey's  love 
would  have  been  a  welcome  diversion,  even 
though  she  could  not  love  him  in  return. 
But  to  gratify  herself  by  accepting  promis- 
cuous attentions  was  the  one  thing  Lot  was 
resolved  never  to  do — never  again.  She 
could  no  longer  conceal  from  herself  that 
she  loved  Mr.  Bravery.  That  could  not 
be  anything  but  a  painful  admission  for 
her  to  make  to  herself  ;  for  it  was  a  complete 
deadlock  ;  her  heart  bruised  itself  against 
his  superior  station  and  gifts,  and  against 
his  impenetrable  indifference.  So  she  made 
the  admission  as  impersonally  as  possible. 
It  was  as  if  she  said  to  herself  :  "  Lot  loves 
Mr.  Bravery,"  rather  than  "  I  love  Mr. 
Bravery;" 

But  after  her  repulse  of  Humphrey  she 
had  all  the  more  longing  to  substantiate 

91 


LOT  BARROW 

and  establish  with  Mr.  Bravery  her  already 
precious  relation,  slight  and  impersonal 
though  it  was.  She  yearned  that  the  little 
he  did  give  her  should  be  secure  to  her. 
And  so  the  next  morning  she  tried  to  pin 
him  down  to  helping  her. 

Miss  Marsy  and  Marjorie  both  breakfasted 
in  their  room,  and  Mrs.  Child  attended  to 
Mr.  Bravery  in  the  sitting-room. 

"  You  look  very  tired,"  he  said  to  Mrs. 
Child  to-day.  He  had  a  way  of  being 
suddenly  and  unexpectedly  observant  of 
other  people's  minor  misfortunes,  and  in 
speaking  of  them  he  had  a  strange, 
unwilling,  sensitive  look  on  his  face. 

"  We  had  an  awful  night,"  Mrs.  Child 
said.  "  We  were  up  till  one  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  It  was  Humphrey.  He  said  he 
would  go,  and  nothing  should  keep  him  now. 
He  said  the  sea  was  the  one  thing  he  wanted, 
and  he  wouldn't  spoil  his  life  for  anyone." 

"  Ah,  I  am  afraid  that  was  hard  for  you," 
said  Mr.  Bravery.  He  would  never  have 
said  to  Mrs.  Child:  "What  does  it  all 
matter  in  the  end  ?  "  because  he  instinct- 
ively felt  that  she  was  not  likely  to  be 
persuaded  to  that  view.  Whereas  with 
Lot  he  had  been  glad  to  feel  that  there  was 
the  possibility  of  the  intelligent  and  wider 
view  of  things. 

92 


BETTER  THAN  TO  BE  UNHAPPY 


'  Yes,  sir,  it  is  hard,"  she  said,  brushing 
away  a  tear.  "  His  father  reasoned  with 
him  at  first,  and  asked  him  what  was  we 
to  look  to  in  the  future,  with  no  son  to  carry 
on  the  business.  Humphrey  answered  him 
back,  and  though  his  father  isn't  a  violent 
man,  I  thought  they  might  come  to  blows. 
But  Michael's  a  good  man,  sir.  I  had  only 
to  give  him  a  look,  and  he  was  quiet." 

Lot  came  in  and  stood  by  with  a  tray, 
which  was  to  be  loaded  and  carried  upstairs. 

"  Have  you  ever  thought  of  his  going  to 
sea  for  a  few  years,  and  then  settling  down 
here  again  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Bravery. 

"  Sir,  we  offered  it  him  last  night.  But 
he  says  he'd  never  come  back.  He  says 
we  don't  know  what  it  is — we  don't  under- 
stand— the  longing  !  He'd  sooner  not  go 
than  have  to  leave  it.  Isn't  it  dreadful  ? 
But  last  night  he  gave  way  to  us  in  the  end. 
He  said  :  '  Very  well ;  you  make  it  im- 
possible for  me  to  go,'  and  went  off  to  bed 
without  so  much  as  giving  us  another  look." 

"  Poor  fellow  !  Fancy  caring  like  that," 
said  Mr.  Bravery. 

"  Well,  sir,  it  almost  breaks  his  mother's 
heart  to  think  he  isn't  happy.  If  only  he 
could  see  it's  for  his  good.  Please  God, 
he  will,  some  day.  It's  no  career  for  a 
man,  what  he  wants,  compared  to  what  we 

93 


LOT  BARROW 

can  give  him  here.  None  at  all.  Now, 
Lot,"  she  added  in  a  different  tone,  "  didn't 
you  bring  the  bacon  ?  No,  I'll  fetch  it 
myself  now.  It  takes  less  time  to  do  a 
thing  yourself  than  talk  about  it." 

She  went  away.  Mr.  Bravery  continued 
to  think  of  Humphrey  for  a  few  moments  ; 
then  he  looked  up  at  Lot. 

"  We  know  better  than  to  be  unhappy, 
don't  we,  Lot." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  she  said  in  a  low,  thrilling 
voice ;  "we  know." 

He  glowed  inwardly  at  her  acquiescence. 
He  had  never  before  come  across  such 
acquiescence.  It  gave  him  new  hope  of 
the  world. 

"You  see,  it's  such  a  dreadful,  unnecessary 
waste,"  he  said.  "  If  Humphrey  could 
only  persuade  himself  to  a  proper  in- 
difference he  could  get  through  life,  what- 
ever happened,  without  the  expense  of  all 
this  feeling." 

"  You  don't  know  how  you  help  me,  sir," 
said  Lot,  with  a  little  gasp.  "  If  I  can 
only  have  you  to  show  me  what's  right 
I  shan't  worry  the  same  as  I  used  to." 

"  That's  right,  Lot.  We  shall  be  friends, 
— always  remember  that.  And  I  will  help 
you." 


94 


CHAPTER  TWELVE :  MARJORIE 
CRIES 

MARJORIE  FULLEYLOVE  was  in  a 
very  delicate  state  of  health,  and 
when  she  had  been  for  a  week  at  the  farm 
she  went  to  bed  with  one  of  the  chills  she 
so  easily  contracted.  She  was  chiefly  waited 
upon  by  Lot,  for  with  Mrs.  Child  the  scaling 
of  stairs  was  difficult. 

No  difference  in  position  would  prevent 
two  girls,  both  young,  both  refined  in 
essentials,  one  ministering,  the  other  being 
ministered  to,  from  feeling  that  there  was 
an  elementary  bond  between  them.  At  any 
rate,  in  this  case  artificial  barriers  were 
frequently  and  easily  overturned  to  enable 
the  two  girls  to  converse  in  simple  friend- 
ship. Friendship  did  not  mean  with  them 
that  they  spoke  of  intimate  things  ;  but 
they  took  pleasure  in  each  other's  presence 
and  in  their  little  haphazard  conversations. 

One  evening  Lot  pulled  a  big  armchair 
out  of  the  draught  and  laid  a  rug  over  it. 
Marjorie  stepped  somewhat  dizzily  out  of 
bed  and  crept  into  the  armchair,  and  Lot 
folded  the  rug  round  her. 

95 


LOT  BARROW 

"  Now  you  sit  as  still  as  still,"  said  Lot, 
"  while  I  make  the  bed." 

"  Will  you  make  it  tuck  in  very  well, 
please,  Lot  ?  " 

"  That  I  will.  I  know  how  the  draughts 
get  in.  I  always  think  myself  that  you 
can't  be  comfortable  unless  one  of  your 
blankets  tucks  right  deep  in." 

"  Why,  even  that  doesn't  satisfy  me," 
said  Marjorie,  smiling.  "  I  think  that 
would  be  only  just  about  as  good  as  having 
one  blanket  on  the  bed.  I  like  them  all 
to  tuck." 

"Then  I'll  make  them."  There  was 
determination  and  even  excitement  in  Lot's 
voice. 

When  Marjorie  was  in  bed  again  she  said  : 

"  Need  you  go  just  yet,  Lot  ?  Can't 
you  stay  and  talk  a  little  ?  " 

"  I  should  like  to  stay,"  said  Lot.  "  Put 
your  arms  in,  miss." 

"  Tell  me  about  your  family,  Lot." 

"  I  haven't  got  one — only  a  sister ;  and 
she's  in  Canada  with  her  husband.  They 
went  out  there  to  try  their  luck." 

Marjorie  was  half -sitting  up  in  bed.  Her 
hair  was  of  the  finest  kind,  and  fell  only 
to  her  shoulders ;  it  stood  out  from  her 
head,  and  was  a  delicate  brown  colour. 
Her  face  had  great  delicacy  of  feature  and 


MARJORIE  CRIES 

complexion,  and  though  she  was  not  beau- 
tiful, she  had  more  charm  than  many 
beauties  have. 

She  said  :  "I  have  only  my  aunt  and 
one  brother." 

"  But  I  suppose  you  and  your  brother 
are  always  together,"  said  Lot. 

"  Oh,  no,  not  by  any  means,"  said  Mar- 
jorie,  smiling. 

Lot  felt  disappointed  at  the  shattering 
of  this  romance,  until  she  thought  of 
something  else. 

"  Perhaps  he's  going  to  be  married  ?  " 
she  said,  shyly. 

"  Yes,  he's  engaged  to  someone  very 
nice  called  Mary  Creed ;  and  of  course 
they  are  together  a  great  deal." 

"  Oh,  dear,"  said  Lot,  with  a  kind  of 
envious  interest,  "  I  suppose  they  hardly 
ever  leave  each  other,  really." 

Marjorie  laughed. 

"  Oh,  I  can  imagine  how  it  is,"  said  Lot, 
nodding  her  head,  and  blushing  a  little. 
"  They  spend  the  day  together,  and  then 
they  are  going  out  together  in  the  evening. 
So  they  each  go  home  and  she  puts  on  a 
lovely  dress,  and  just  before  she  starts  out 
again  to  meet  him  a  package  comes  to  the 
door  with  some  lovely  flowers  in  it.  And 
they  are  from  him." 

97  H 


LOT  BARROW 

"  Well,  I  daresay,"  said  Marjorie,  smiling 
again.  "  Only  that  isn't  quite  right,  be- 
cause he  works  all  day." 

"  And  what  time  does  he  leave  off,  miss?" 

"  I  suppose  at  about  five ;  I  believe 
she  goes  to  meet  him  sometimes." 

Lot  sighed.  That  seemed  to  her  even 
lovelier  than  that  they  should  be  together 
all  day. 

And  this  talk  helped  to  give  rise  to  many 
pleasant,  restless  thoughts  within  her.  She 
pictured  herself  in  London  with  that  un- 
known young  man  (whom  she  imagined  to 
have  a  singular  facial  resemblance  to  Mr. 
Bravery)  for  a  lover,  whom  she  loved. 
And  she  was  Mary  Creed — but  Lot  really, 
just  as  the  man  was  really  Mr.  Bravery. 
Perhaps  she  would  not  even  be  called  Mary  ; 
— no,  she  knew  of  a  lovelier  name  than 
that.  There  had  been  a  Dymphna  in  a 
cheap  story  she  had  read  ;  and  she  would 
be  called  Dymphna.  And  he — he  was 
Raymond. 

And  so  she  stands  in  a  little  room  with 
a  fire  in  it,  and  long,  rich  curtains  drawn, 
and  she  has  on  a  rustling  silk  dress.  And 
soon  she  is  to  go  and  meet  her  lover  at 
the  theatre.  But  in  the  meantime  some- 
thing has  come  to  the  door,  and  a  servant 
brings  her  in  a  bunch  of  flowers. 

98 


MARJORIE  CRIES 

That  servant  was  the  cause  of  endless 
annoyance  to  Lot.  What  an  ironical  ab- 
surdity it  was  that  the  servant  who 
brought  the  flowers  should  be  none  other 
than  Lot  herself  !  But  Lot  was  standing 
in  her  splendid  dress  by  the  fire,  ready  to 
take  the  flowers.  Yes,  that  was  true  ;  but 
the  fact  remained  that  the  servant  looked 
like  Lot,  and  could  not  be  got  to  look  like 
any  one  else.  The  beautiful  creature  by 
the  fire  Lot  could  never  actually  visualise  ; 
she  failed  to  create  the  mental  picture  of 
herself  in  the  grand  attire.  She  only 
knew  that  it  was  she.  But  it  was  all  too 
easy  to  see  that  human  beast  of  burden  as 
herself.  It  was,  indeed,  strangely  difficult 
to  give  her  other  features  and  another 
form.  She  tried  to  make  her  into  Jennie, 
but,  even  if  she  succeeded,  Jennie  would 
say,  with  an  appalling  intimacy :  "  Good 
heavens,  Lot,  what's  the  game  ?  " — which 
was  not  at  all  what  was  required  of  her. 
Therefore  all  that  pleasant  dream  was 
apt  to  collapse  with  the  entrance  of  the 
flowers. 

Mr.  Bravery  had  been  desperately  busy 
finishing  a  book.  The  final  essay  was 
completed  during  those  days  Marjorie  spent 
in  bed.  Miss  Marsy  had  given  him  every 
chance  of  industry,  for  she  sat  silent  for 

M 


LOT  BARROW 

hours,  only  too  proud  to  be  in  the  same 
room  with  her  author  while  he  worked. 
She  was  so  anxious  he  should  know  how  well 
she  understood  the  virtues  of  silence  that 
even  if  he  spoke  to  her  she  would  only 
answer  by  a  nod.  One  day  when  he  asked 
her  if  she  would  like  the  window  open  she 
pointed  ambiguously  to  the  door — an  eco- 
nomy which  led  eventually  to  speech. 
Nearly  always  speech  would  have  been  a 
briefer  thing  than  signs  which  were  apt  to 
be  misunderstood.  But  when  you  are 
dealing  with  a  sense  of  duty  .  .  . 

The  first  evening  Marjorie  spent  down- 
stairs was  to  be  celebrated  by  Mr.  Bravery's 
reading  aloud  from  his  book.  He  thought 
he  had  done  something  better  than  he  had 
done  before.  He  hoped,  in  all  humility, 
that  on  this  occasion  his  publisher  would  be 
glad  to  risk  the  undertaking.  "  He  might 
not  make  a  fortune  out  of  the  thing  at  first," 
thought  Mr.  Bravery,  "  but  the  world  must 
come  eventually  to  see  things  in  the  way 
in  which  that  book  suggests.  Look  at 
the  way  a  simple  village  girl  apprehends  it 
and  drinks  it  in  !  "  He  had  no  personal 
ambition  that  the  world  should  learn  these 
things  particularly  from  him  as  an  individual, 
but  his  heart  was  wholly  set  on  the  world's 
learning  them  somehow,  from  somewhere. 

100 


MARJORIE  CRIES 

At  a  very  early  age  he  had  been  over- 
whelmed by  the  presence  of  suffering  around 
him.  When  in  later  years  he  had  watched 
his  mother  die  slowly  of  a  dreadful  disease, 
he  had  been  first  goaded  into  making 
Indifference  his  ideal.  To  watch  her  in- 
tolerable suffering  as  she  died  by  inches 
was  too  cruel  a  fate  for  him  with  his  keen 
sensibilities ;  and  only  one  thought  had 
any  healing  power.  It  was  a  thought  that 
had  come  to  him  one  day  with  a  sudden, 
most  precious  breath  of  alleviation.  He  felt 
as  that  poor  invalid  must  have  felt  had  she 
been  miraculously  able  to  get  up  and  walk. 
He  had  been  standing  by  his  mother's  bed, 
pouring  out  some  medicine ;  and  as  the 
liquid  tinkled  into  the  glass,  across  his 
dreadful  uneasiness  had  suddenly  come 
the  thought :  "  What  does  it  all  matter 
really  ?  " 

He  nursed  the  thought,  until  it  rarely 
left  him.  He  was  then  in  a  strange  con- 
dition. For  as  he  watched  by  his  mother 
at  her  most  crucial  times,  his  own  responsive 
outward  state  was  still  the  same  as  ever : 
he  sat  rigid,  with  fixed  eyes,  and  drops  of 
perspiration  on  his  forehead,  but  inwardly 
now  he  was  saying  to  himself  :  "It  would 
be  dreadful  if  it  mattered.  But  thank  God 
it  doesn't  matter." 

101 


LOT  BARROW 

His  belief  in  this  idea  was  so  fixed  that, 
as  time  went  on,  he  came  to  think  of  grief 
as  not  only  a  mistake  but  an  indulgence. 
By  this  means  did  people  flatter  themselves 
that  the  world  was  made  for  their  enjoy- 
ment. They  mourned  the  lack  of  happi- 
ness as  though  happiness  should  have 
been  their  lot,  but  by  some  error  or  per- 
version of  things  it  had  happened  otherwise. 
Mr.  Bravery  perceived  in  people  the  notion 
that  evil  and  suffering  were  a  deviation 
from  natural  things.  He  wanted  them  to 
be  considered  as  natural,  expected  things ; 
he  wanted  people  to  look  for  nothing  differ- 
ent, and  to  be  unmoved  by  them. 

Marjorie  sat  in  a  comfortable  chair,  put 
near  the  window  so  that  she  looked  right 
across  the  dim  garden  to  the  eastern  sky. 
She  had  on  a  white  shawl,  and  her  hair 
was  loose.  Her  spirits,  always  gentle,  were 
subdued  by  her  weakness.  Miss  Marsy 
sat  near  her,  patting  her  hand,  or  pushing 
her  hair  from  her  brow ;  and  opposite 
them,  on  the  other  side  of  the  window- 
embrasure,  Mr.  Bravery  sat  at  a  little 
table,  with  his  manuscript  before  him.  He 
began  to  read  aloud,  and  we  shall  hear  a 
little  of  what  he  read. 

But,  on  the  whole,  no.  Those  who  wish 
may  discover  it  for  themselves.  It  is  true 

102 


MARJORIE  CRIES 

that  this  particular  manuscript  was  never 
published,  but  other  essays  by  Mr.  Bravery 
contain  the  nucleus  of  the  same  arguments, 
and  are  obtainable. 

Marjorie  had  her  quiet  eyes  fixed  on  the 
scene  outside.  The  sky  was  grey  and  low, 
broken  only  in  rare  places.  Those  breaks 
made  it  possible  to  perceive  that  the  heavens 
were  travelling  with  extraordinary  slowness 
from  the  north.  The  earth  was  very 
colourless  ;  but  just  outside  the  window, 
a  little  apart  from  all  the  other  tangled 
lanes  of  flowers,  was  a  bank  of  tobacco- 
plant — gleaming  white  stars,  shining  to 
the  north  and  west  and  south  and  east ; 
large,  loose,  unfixed  stars,  which  a  breeze 
could  stir. 

When  Mr.  Bravery  had  read  his  best 
essay,  he  looked  up  at  his  little  audience. 
Miss  Marsy  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  It  is  very  wonderful,"  she  said.  "  I  am 
sure  I  don't  understand  how  you  can  think 
of  it  all,  Raymond  dear." 

Marjorie,  who  looked  very  tired  by  now, 
continued  to  gaze  out  of  the  window. 

"  You'll  never  be  a  saint,  cousin  Ray- 
mond," she  said  at  last  with  a  slight, 
sensitive  smile. 

Mr.  Bravery  drew  his  papers  together. 
"  I  hope  to  get  through  life  with  dignity 

103 


LOT  BARROW 

and   peace,"    he   said.     "  No,   Marjorie,    I 
suppose  I  shall  not  be  a  saint." 

"  Because  they  did  care  about  things," 
said  Marjorie.  "  Only  they  cared  for  God 
more  than  anything.  It  seems  to  me  it 
would  be  too  dreadful  never  to  surfer  or 
rejoice,  and  to  have  no  will  to  renounce — "  ; 
her  eyes  had  been  slowly  filling  with  tears, 
and  now  suddenly  she  hid  her  face  on  Miss 
Marsy's  shoulder  and  began  to  sob.  Her 
companions  were  uneasy  and  alarmed. 
She  struggled  with  herself  until  she  could 
say:  "It's  only  that  I'm  tired,  aunt. 
Take  me  to  bed." 


104 


CHAPTER  THIRTEEN:  THE  POST 

IN  the  middle  of  that  long,  hot  August 
Mr.  Bravery  still  had  no  reply  from 
his  publishers  as  to  the  fate  of  the  manu- 
script which  he  had  despatched  to  them 
with  every  confidence.  He  left  Wiggonholt 
with  Miss  Marsy  and  Mar  jorie  when  they  went 
to  the  sea,  and  he  returned  again  after  a 
week's  absence.  He  was  in  rather  sombre 
spirits,  very  anxious  about  his  book.  He 
carried  with  him  the  slightly  exasperating  re- 
membrance of  Marjorie's  parting  injunction, 
given  to  him  as  they  walked  towards  the 
station  through  streets  that  every  now  and 
then  had  the  blue  sea  for  their  horizon. 

"  Write  about  other  things  sometimes," 
she  had  said,  shyly  but  earnestly.  "  There 
are  things  in  nature  that  you  love,  and  I 
think  you  see  them  a  little  differently  from 
anyone  else  I  have  met." 

"  I  could  do  that,"  he  had  answered. 
"  In  fact,  I  have  done  so.  But — well, 
Mar  jorie,  would  you  sing  Raff  when  you 
might  sing  Schumann  ?  " 

"  No,  I  would  not,"  she  answered,  smiling. 
She  obviously  thought  that  the  parallel 

105 


LOT  BARROW 

would  be  truer  if  Mr.  Bravery's  application 
of  it  were  exactly  reversed,  but  she  left  him 
to  divine  her  mind. 

They  had  parted  at  the  station-entrance  ; 
he  went  to  find  his  train,  while  Marjorie 
started  out  to  walk  back  to  the  little  lodgings 
whose  windows  were  sometimes  splashed 
by  the  sea.  "  Good-bye,  Marjorie,"  he 
had  said.  "  Get  strong."  And  she  said  : 
"  Yes,  I  am  much  stronger  now  ;  good-bye." 
The  two  women  were  coming  back  to 
Wiggonholt  in  the  late  autumn,  when  they 
had  paid  some  visits,  for  another  brief  stay. 
Miss  Marsy  took  good  care  of  Marjorie,  and 
wanted  to  see  her  strong  before  they 
returned  to  London  for  the  winter. 

Now  Mr.  Bravery  spent  many  days  up 
on  his  beloved  hills,  where  there  was  always 
some  breeze,  and  where  the  scent  of  the 
yellow  gorse  was  warm  in  the  sun.  He 
was  not  inclined  to  settle  down  to  fresh 
work  in  his  present  state  of  uncertainty. 
For  the  postman  still  denied  him  any 
tidings.  Occasionally  he  did  a  thing  he 
could  not  regard  as  work  :  he  made  notes 
of  what  he  saw  and  heard  up  on  those  hills. 
It  was  such  a  particularly  splendid  year, 
and  he  was  alone  up  there,  and  it  was 
almost  impossible  to  think  in  terms  of 
ordinary  appreciation. 

106 


THE  POST 

Down  in  the  valley  it  was  very  hot,  and 
Lot  was  pale,  and  slow  in  her  movements. 
She  had  been  greatly  tried  by  Mr.  Bravery's 
absence  from  the  farm,  but  the  simple 
burst  of  thankfulness  with  which  she  had 
greeted  him  on  his  return  had  strengthened 
the  bond  between  them. 

"  Thank  God  you've  come  back,  sir,"  she 
said.  "  I  seem  to  lose  all  strength  to  bear 
anything  when  you're  not  here." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  understand,"  he  replied. 
"  But  you  will  learn,  Lot." 

Mrs.  Child  was  tortured  by  the  heat. 
A  cow  died  one  night  after  making  long, 
mournful  sounds.  And  Mr.  Child  was 
harassed  at  this  time  by  the  loss  of  one  of 
his  best  customers  at  Lewington.  But  the 
Childs  had  a  quiet,  dignified  way  of  enduring 
adversity. 

One  day  when  they  sat  lingering  over 
the  mid-day  meal,  Humphrey  got  up  to 
pour  some  beer  into  glass  pots  that  stood 
on  the  window-sill.  These  pots  had  been 
such  effective  lure  to  the  wasps  that  there 
was  a  solid  mass  of  little  corpses  inside, 
and  newcomers  could  stand  on  firm  ground 
to  suck  the  sweetness,  and  fly  away  again. 
This  was  a  kind  of  glaring  injustice  that 
offended  Humphrey,  so  he  poured  in  more 
beer. 

107 


LOT  BARROW 

"  There's  something  you've  forgotten," 
said  his  father. 

"  And  that  is  ?  "  said  Humphrey,  after 
a  moment's  uninterested  pause. 

"  You're  filling  up  them  pots,"  said  Mr. 
Child,  "  and  not  putting  a  drop  inside 
yourself." 

"  You're  right,"  said  Humphrey,  after 
another  little  pause.  '  I  think  I  ought  to 
have  a  drink  first  and  last  for  doing  this 
job." 

"  Them  little  beggars  knows  what's  good." 

Humphrey  took  up  one  of  the  jars,  and, 
with  his  hand  over  the  top,  shook  it  so  that 
the  mixture  inside  swung  round  and  caught 
in  any  stray  insect  wandering  over  the 
sides.  He  did  this  with  a  much  greater 
air  of  interest  and  absorption  than  he  ever 
showed  in  talking  to  his  father. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  indifferently,  "  it  seems 
as  if  I  was  studying  the  wasps  better'n 
I  study  myself." 

The  hall-door  bell  clanged  over  their 
heads.  It  was  the  postman's  hour.  Mrs. 
Child  never  insisted  on  going  for  the 
letters ;  the  postman  had  contracted  an 
unsociable,  time-saving  habit  of  laying 
the  letters  on  the  doorstep  and  then  standing 
in  the  road  with  one  foot  on  his  bicycle, 
all  ready  to  mount,  only  waiting  for  the 

108 


THE  POST 

first  movement  of  the  door-handle  to  ride 
off. 

Humphrey  and  Lot  started  up  simul- 
taneously to  go  to  the  door.  When  she 
perceived  his  intention  she  immediately 
sat  down  again,  a  fact  which  suddenly 
exasperated  Humphrey. 

"  Go  yourself,  if  you  want  to,"  he  said 
sullenly,  and  turned  out  into  the  garden 
instead.  So  Lot  went  to  the  door. 

There  was  only  one  letter,  which  Lot  took 
in  to  Mr.  Bravery.  He  glanced  at  the 
inscription  and  opened  it  eagerly.  "  Just 
wait  a  moment,  Lot,"  he  said,  in  his  hurry. 
He  had  a  sudden,  affectionate  impulse 
towards  her,  and  thought  that  he  would 
tell  her,  when  he  had  read  his  letter,  that 
something  had  happened  to  please  him. 
For  he  did  not  doubt  that  there  was  good 
news.  But  having  read  it,  he  put  it  down 
slowly  on  the  table,  and  stood  still  in  obvious 
dismay.  Lot  watched  him  miserably  for 
a  minute,  and  then  touched  his  arm. 

"  Don't  you  give  way,"  she  implored  him. 
"  Has  something  bad  happened  ?  If  you 
give  way,  what  will  become  of  me  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Lot,  you  exaggerate.  I  have  had 
a  disappointment,  that  is  all.  Why,  my 
dear  girl,  you  are  trembling.  Be  more 
sure  of  yourself,  Lot ;  don't  be  so  affected." 

109 


LOT  BARROW 

"  Listen,  listen,"  she  said  in  a  whisper, 
stamping  her  feet  in  a  kind  of  suppressed 
frenzy  on  the  floor.  "  I  had  something 
dreadful  happen  to  me,  and  I  don't  think  I 
could  bear  it  if  it  wasn't  for  you.  You 
told  me  it  didn't  matter.  And  that's 
what  I  say  to  myself  in  the  night.  You 
know,  sir,  I  get  a  kind  of  trembling  in  my 
spine  in  the  night,  and  then  I  know  I've 
got  to  think  of  what  happened  before  I 
came  here.  But  now  when  that  comes  on 
I  think  of  you  and  what  you  told  me. 
You're  the  only  comfort  I've  got  in  the 
world.  When  I  was  coming  here  I  thought 
Mrs.  Child  would  comfort  me  and  love  me. 
You  see,  I  didn't  know  then  what  she  was," 
said  Lot,  hardly.  "  And  now — if  you " 

"  Yes,  Lot,  I  understand,"  said  Mr. 
Bravery,  his  heart  moved  towards  her. 
'  You  don't  want  me  to  fail  you  now." 

"  Well,  if  you  worry  about  anything 
that  happens  to  you,  I  should  have  to  worry 
about  what  happened  to  me.  I  should 
have  to.  And  it's  more  than  I  can  bear. 
I  think  I  would  go  mad.  Oh,  sir,"  she 
sobbed,  "  pity  me  !  ': 

He  put  his  hand  on  her  arm,  and  looked 
very  kindly  into  her  face,  so  that  her  heart 
suddenly  throbbed  because  he  was  so  near. 

"  Now,   listen,  Lot.     You   saw   me   dis- 

110 


THE  POST 

appointed.  I  think  I  perhaps  had  the 
biggest  disappointment  the  world  contains 
for  me.  Very  well.  But  I  wasn't  so  very 
upset,  was  I  ?  I  didn't  swear,  or  moan, 
or  cry,  did  I,  Lot  ?  "  He  shook  her  gently 
where  he  held  her,  and  questioned  her 
with  his  eyes  smilingly. 

She  had  to  answer :  "  No,  sir,"  tremu- 
lously, and  praised  him  with  her  eyes. 

"  Well,  now.  You  mustn't  suppose  I've 
gone  back  on  anything  I  have  said  to  help 
you.  Far  from  it.  And  you  will  have  me 
here,  saying  the  same  things,  and  being 
just  as  much  a  help  as  ever.  So  let  me  see 
you  calm,  Lot." 

She  said:    "Yes." 

"  And  the  day  will  come  when  you  are 
so  sure  of  certain  truths  that  you  will  be 
dependent  on  nobody  in  this  world  for 
help.  You  will  need  no  help." 

She  agreed  again,  obediently  ;  and  then 
slipped  quietly  out  of  the  room,  and  for 
a  few  hours  she  was  happy. 

But  in  the  evening  she  again  saw  Mr. 
Bravery  in  an  attitude  of  great  dejection 
in  his  sitting-room.  He  had  forgotten 
for  the  minute  that  Lot  was  there,  or  he 
would  have  been  more  on  his  guard.  He 
suffered  more  than  he  would  have  cared  to 
own  because  of  the  summary  refusal  of  his 

111 


LOT  BARROW 

book.  He  mourned,  in  a  way  that  was 
perfectly  consistent  with  humility,  the  loss 
to  the  world.  And  Lot  saw  his  face  buried 
in  his  hands,  and  had  a  pang  of  horrible 
fear.  She  could  say  nothing  to  him,  be- 
cause Mrs.  Child  was  approaching,  and  she 
went  back  to  the  kitchen  in  the  kind  of 
misery  that  hangs  too  heavily  on  a  young 
heart. 

When  Mr.  Child  announced,  as  he  did 
every  night :  "  Well,  it  can't  be  far  off 
roosting-time "  (the  signal  for  everyone 
to  go  to  bed),  Lot  gave  one  of  her  rare 
displays  of  feeling.  The  prospect  of  going 
to  her  solitary  room  was  too  much  for 
her. 

"  It's  no  good  me  going  to  bed,"  she  said, 
"  because  I  shan't  sleep  a  wink."  She 
spoke  pettishly,  but  her  eyes  were  slightly 
dilated  with  the  nobler  emotion  of  fear. 

"Why's  that?"  said  Mrs.  Child.  Lot 
did  not  answer.  "  Well,  they  often  sleep 
the  best  who  say  that." 

"  I  tell  you  I  won't  sleep  a  wink,"  said 
Lot,  angrily. 

"  Well,  if  you  can't  rest,  and  feel 
lonely,  you  come  and  knock  at  our  door," 
said  Mrs.  Child. 

"  It's  not  as  if  it  hadn't  turned  cooler 
with  the  rain,"  said  Mr.  Child,  evidently 

112 


THE  POST 

not  particularly  looking  forward  to  the 
threatened  disturbance  of  his  night. 

Lot  went  up  to  her  room  and  undressed 
herself  very  slowly. 

"  The  rain  comes  down  faster  than  ever," 
she  thought,  "  and  the  wind  is  rising.  That 
is  what  I  have  got  to  listen  to  all  night. 
Oh,  God,  have  pity  on  me  !  " 


113 


CHAPTER  FOURTEEN:  THE  STEP  IN 
THE  PASSAGE 

YES,  all  night  the  rain  drenched  the 
dark  leaves  of  the  elm,  and  trickled 
from  a  water-spout  down  on  to  the  ground 
just  beneath  Lot's  window ;  and  all  night 
the  wind  roared  on  an  upward  and  ever 
upward  note. 

But  Lot  was  asleep. 

And  then  to  wake  and  find  it  was  dawn  ! 
The  quiet,  prosaic  light  filtered  through 
the  blind.  A  terrified  awakening  in  the 
dark  would  have  seemed  inevitable  even  if 
the  possibility  of  sleep  had  been  admitted  ; 
but  now  there  could  be  no  such  thing.  Few 
awakenings  are  as  merciful  as  that. 

Lot  was  almost  incredulously  grateful 
when  she  saw  the  light.  She  found,  too, 
as  the  day  wore  on,  that  Mr.  Bravery  was 
not  seriously  oppressed  by  any  grief.  In- 
deed, he  took  an  opportunity  to  say  to  her  : 
"  Having  slept  on  my  disappointment,  Lot, 
I  find  it  considerably  reduced.  You  did 
me  good,  childie ;  you  reminded  me  to  be 
wise."  He  flattered  himself  that  she  was 
a  most  creditable  pupil.  And  it  seemed  to 

114 


THE  STEP  IN  THE  PASSAGE 

Lot  as  if  her  heart  must  burst  with  pride 
and  joy.  She  carried  his  little  name  for 
her  about  with  her  all  the  day.  It  had 
been  said  half  tenderly,  half  playfully  ;  it 
was  more  happiness  than  Lot  had  ever 
dreamed  of.  She  realised  solemnly  that 
whatever  life  might  bring  her  that  was 
sweet,  it  could  bring  her  nothing  more 
sweet  than  that. 

That  evening  the  Childs  went  to  play 
whist  in  the  village.  It  was  one  of  the  rare 
convivial  events  to  which  the  enterprise 
of  the  villagers  periodically  soared,  and 
even  Humphrey,  perhaps  to  perpetuate 
his  reputation  of  being  a  very  superior 
player,  was  not  unwilling  to  exercise  his 
skill.  Lot  was  not  making  use  of  her  own 
permission  to  go  ;  a  few  hours  spent  quite 
away  from  Mrs.  Child  were  more  acceptable 
to  her  than  most  forms  of  entertainment. 
But  she  almost  regretted  her  decision  when, 
just  as  the  Childs  started,  Mr.  Bravery 
came  out  into  the  passage  and  said  :  "  I'll 
come  along  with  you." 

When  Lot  had  washed  up  the  tea-things, 
and,  in  Mrs.  Child's  arm-chair,  had  made  a 
leisurely  examination  of  the  halfpenny 
illustrated  paper  (the  coveted  paper  which 
Mr.  Child  was  so  often  absorbing  just  when 
Lot  had  a  free  half-hour  in  the  evening), 

115 


LOT  BARROW 

she  wandered  round  the  kitchen  a  little 
listlessly,  quite  inclined  for  some  active 
task,  so  long  as  it  was  a  task  for  herself 
and  not  for  the  Childs. 

Suddenly  she  became  busy.  The  fire 
had  been  left  to  get  very  low,  but  the  water 
in  the  great  urn  was  still  nearly  boiling. 
Lot  turned  the  tap  and  drew  a  large  basin- 
ful, and  carried  it  in  her  easy,  effortless 
way  into  the  broad  passage-place  outside 
the  kitchen,  and  put  it  on  the  table  there. 
She  lit  a  candle  and  went  up  to  her  bedroom 
and  took  off  her  dress.  Soon  she  came 
down  in  her  bodice  and  petticoat,  and  with 
a  large  towel  over  her  arm.  She  tempered 
the  water,  and  loosened  her  hair. 

Lot  was  clever  in  getting  all  that  mass  of 
hair,  very  dark  in  the  water,  well  washed 
in  a  few  minutes.  It  was  a  pleasing  feeling 
to  be  doing  something  well  and  efficiently 
for  herself,  when  the  habit  of  her  life  was  to 
do  things  for  other  people.  She  rubbed 
her  hair  with  the  great  towel  until  it  was 
dry,  scorning  to  use  the  heat  of  the  fire, 
and  she  combed  it  and  brushed  it  free  of 
tangle — a  long  performance. 

Now,  lest  she  should  catch  cold  if  she 
went  straight  to  bed,  she  sat  by  the  fire, 
low  on  Mrs.  Child's  footstool,  and  spread 
out  her  hair.  Just  to  air  it,  she  thought. 

116 


THE  STEP  IN  THE  PASSAGE 

However  much  she  was  enjoying  her 
leisure,  she  was  nevertheless  all  the  time 
just  conscious  that  she  was  alone  in  the 
house — and  when  the  others  came  in  she 
would  feel  safer.  All  the  doors  were  locked, 
and  the  windows  closed — she  had  seen  to 
that ;  and  she  knew  she  had  no  cause  for 
alarm.  But  to  youth  solitude  is  very  like 
alarm — the  watching,  listening  sister. 

As  she  bent  close  to  the  fast-cooling  fire, 
and  with  both  hands  stirred  her  hair  before 
it,  she  heard  a  distant  sound,  followed  by 
a  step  in  the  passage-way. 

She  stiffened  to  stone,  so  that  she  could 
not  move  an  eyelid,  and  yet  thought  was 
painfully  quick  and  active  in  her  brain. 
An  entrance  must  have  been  forced,  and 
he  who  forced  an  entrance  could  have  no 
good  intent  in  coming.  She  recognised 
the  faint  possibility  that  the  whist-party 
might  have  come  home  early  and  let  them- 
selves in  with  their  key,  but  she  thought 
of  that  without  a  ray  of  real  hope. 

But  the  step  was  coming  nearer  and  nearer, 
and  now  she  must  turn  her  head  to  watch. 
She  did  this  with  a  conscious  effort,  and 
the  muscles  at  the  back  of  her  neck  ached, 
as  if  she  had  used  strength  against  strength. 
The  kitchen  door  was  closed,  but  there 
were  panes  of  glass  in  the  upper  part  of  it. 

117 


LOT  BARROW 

If  what  she  saw  through  the  glass  was  too 
terrible,  she  would  spring  across  the  kitchen 
and  put  all  her  weight  against  the  door 
to  keep  it  shut. 

She  watched  the  very  point  where  the 
man's  head  would  appear,  though  she  had 
never  consciously  taken  note  of  where  the 
average  head  reached  to.  By  sound  she 
knew  the  coming  was  now  imminent.  She 
waited  to  see,  and  just  before  she  saw, 
she  knew  who  it  was.  It  was  as  if  she  had 
eyes  more  seeing  than  the  wide,  frightened 
ones  of  her  face.  Yes,  she  saw  it  was  Mr. 
Bravery  a  small  part  of  a  second  before  he 
was  in  her  sight. 

Curiously  enough,  it  still  seemed  as  if 
her  alarm  must  reach  its  climax,  even  after 
she  had  seen  him.  The  climax  was  reached, 
for  some  arbitrary  reason,  in  seeing  Mr. 
Bravery  put  his  hand  to  the  handle  of  the 
door  and  hearing  the  little  noise  he  made 
as  he  turned  it. 

"  Oh — oh — oh  !  "  said  Lot,  on  three  in- 
drawn breaths. 

Mr.  Bravery  came  to  her  quickly.  "  I 
have  frightened  you.  Oh,  Lot,  I  am  sorry. 
I  should  have  considered.  I  went  with  them 
as  far  as  the  door,  and  I  thought  I  would 
sooner  walk  than  go  inside.  They  gave  me 
why  do  you  keep  looking  at  the  door  ?  " 

118 


THE  STEP  IN  THE  PASSAGE 

"  Oh,  I  was  so  frightened,  sir  !  I  still 
feel  as  if  there  must  be  something  dreadful 
there.  It  doesn't  seem  as  if  it  could  only 
be  you."  She  tried  to  smile  her  little 
apology,  resolved  to  look  anywhere  but  at 
the  door  again. 

"  The  night  is  wonderful.  I  strolled 
along.  The  sky  is  blue,  Lot.  There  are 
only  two  stars — one  in  the  west  and  one 
in  the  south."  Mr.  Bravery  watched  her 
with  remorse  and  uneasiness.  "  You  don't 
feel  frightened  now,  Lot  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you."  Lot  struggled  with 
herself,  and  then  quietly  buried  her  face 
in  her  hands  and  cried. 

"Lot,  hold  my  hand.  There!  Hold 
it  close,  and  feel  the  human  presence.  I 
would  give  anything  not  to  have  troubled 
you  so.  It  is  your  friend."  He  spoke  to 
her  until  she  was  still  again,  and  then, 
because  he  was  full  of  uneasiness,  he  said : 

"  Tell  me  why  you  cried,  Lot." 

She  hesitated.  "I  don't  know,  sir,"  and 
then  immediately  gave  her  reasons.  "  I  had 
been  so  frightened.  And  then — for  you  to 
see  me  like  this,"  she  said,  looking  down. 

Mr.  Bravery  turned  away  his  head  from 
the  sight  of  her,  but  with  one  swift,  unin- 
tended look  as  he  turned,  and  that  look 
told  him  how  beautiful  she  was. 

119 


LOT  BARROW 

'  Well,  now  you  are  not  frightened  any 
more — and  as  for  that  other  trouble,  that 
doesn't  last  either,  for  I  can  go  away.  No, 
I  don't  want  to  go  just  yet.  What  is  to 
be  done,  Lot  ?  "  He  glanced  at  her.  She 
was  looking  down,  but  did  not  look  un- 
happy. "  Here  you  are,"  he  said.  "  Catch 
this." 

She  put  the  big  towel  round  her  like  a 
shawl,  and  then  pulled  out  her  long  hair. 

"  I  was  just  going  to  bed  when  I  heard 
that  noise,"  she  remarked.  She  still  seemed 
not  to  connect  that  terrible  approach  with 
him.  He  smiled  at  that  little  foolishness, 
for  he  was  indulgent. 

"  You  were  not  going  to  wait  up  for  them, 
then." 

"  Oh,  no  ;  Mrs.  Child  told  me  to  go  to 
bed ;  we're  up  early  to-morrow.  I  will 
go  now,  sir.  The  fire's  out.  Did  you 
shut  the  front  door  behind  you  ?  " 

*  Yes,  I  shut  it  right  enough,"  he  said, 
in  his  good-humour.  "  What  do  you  take 
me  for  ?  " 

"  Sometimes  you  forget  it,  you  know,  sir," 
said  Lot,  enjoying  this  new  sensation  of 
freedom  in  little  things  with  him.  "  Mrs. 
Child  laughs  in  here  about  it  when  you 
forget  to  fasten  the  door,  and  to  wipe  your 
feet,  and  things  like  that." 

120 


THE  STEP  IN  THE  PASSAGE 

"It  is  nice  of  her  to  do  nothing  worse 
than  laugh." 

"  Yes,  but  if  I  did  the  same  thing,  of 
course  she  would  be  at  me  for  an  hour," 
said  Lot,  quickly. 

She  got  up  from  her  stool. 

"  Bed-time,"  she  said,  feeling  shy  now. 
But  she  had  the  sudden  temerity  to  take 
hold  of  his  hand,  her  heart  beating  wildly. 
She  had  remembered  his  phrase.  "  I  have 
felt  the  human  presence,"  she  said,  "  and 
I  don't  want  to  go." 

"  And  I  want  you  to  stay." 

"  What,  wrapped  up  in  this  damp  old 
towel  ?  "  she  said  happily.  But  she  was 
thinking  with  a  most  uneasy  fear  that  Mrs. 
Child  might  come.  "  Why,  I  should  catch 
my  death." 

He  felt  the  towel  with  both  hands  where 
it  lay  on  her  shoulders. 

"  Yes,  go  to  bed,  dear  Lot ;  it  is  damp." 
But  he  did  not  let  her  go. 

"  You  must  never  be  so  frightened 
again." 

"  No,"  she  whispered. 

"  And  if  you  are  ever  frightened  or 
troubled,  you  must  come  to  me.  Am  I  able 
to  help  you  ?  Do  I  comfort  you,  Lot  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  do,"  she  said  with  passion. 

"  All  that  I  have  taught  you  is  true. 

121 


LOT  BARROW 

I  have  taught  you  great  truths,  but  it  has 
been  great  of  you  to  receive  them.  I 
can't  tell  you  what  great  gratification  that 
has  given  me.  So  remember  that  you  are 
to  come  to  me.  And  if  things  were  very 
bad  for  you  ...  I  might  take  you  away." 

She  lifted  her  eyes.  "  You  would  take 
me  away  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Lot.     You  would  like  that  ?  " 

Lot  thought  for  a  moment.  These  things 
were  almost  too  big  for  her. 

"To  be  with  you  always  ?  " 

"  Always." 

'  To  marry  me  ?  " 

"  Yes."  He  was  thinking  :  "If  she  is 
not  able  to  take  her  life  easily  here,  I  will 
take  her  away  and  marry  her.  The  world 
doesn't  want  to  hear  what  I  want  to  teach. 
But  Lot  wants  it  and  needs  it." 

Lot's  simple  instinct  was  to  put  her 
arms  up  round  his  neck  ; — and  Mr.  Bravery 
could  have  kissed  the  reddened  face  that 
was  turned  so  ardently  up  to  him.  But 
he,  dead  to  any  wish,  gently  drew  away ; 
and  Lot,  always  quick  to  imitate  him, 
managed  to  make  herself  do  so  even  now. 

"  Good-night,  Lot,"  he  said.  Her  hand 
still  clung  to  his. 

"  Good-night,  dear  sir"  she  stammered, 
and  turned  to  the  door. 

122 


CHAPTER  FIFTEEN :  HUMPHREY'S 
FIST 

MR.  BRAVERY,  feeling  somewhat 
gloomy  the  next  day,  worked  assi- 
duously at  his  nature  essays,  raking  out 
old  material  that  had  been  cast  aside  as 
soon  as  it  had  been  written,  and  changing, 
and  incorporating,  and  adding.  He  began 
to  get  absurdly  interested  in  these  trivial 
things,  and  was  almost  impatient  of  the 
interruption  that  came. 

He  had  to  go  into  the  kitchen  for  a  knife 
to  sharpen  his  pencil.  Mrs.  Child  was 
alone  there  ;  she  had  been  crying ;  the 
marks  were  on  her  face.  Mr.  Bravery 
said  :  "  Are  you  in  pain  ?  " 

"It's  not  that,"  she  said.  "  I  am  dread- 
fully worried  about  Humphrey." 

"Is  it  any  good  going  on  like  this  ?  " 
asked  Mr.  Bravery.  "  Let  him  go,  Mrs. 
Child.  Let  him  shape  his  life.  You  have 
done  your  best  to  keep  him.  If  I  were  you 
I  should  send  him  off  to-morrow." 

"I'm  not  thinking  about  whether  he 
shall  go  to  sea  or  not.  It  would  break  his 
father's  heart  if  he  was  to  go,  I  know  that. 

123 


LOT  BARROW 

But  I  shouldn't  be  sorry  now,  for  my  own 
sake.  There's  worse  things  than  deserting 
your  father  and  mother  to  go  to  sea." 

Mr.  Bravery  sat  down. 

"  Tell  me  about  it,  Mrs.  Child.  Would  it 
be  any  help  ?  " 

"  I  believe  you  could  help  me,  sir.  I 
have  sent  Lot  into  the  village  ;  Michael  is 
out  with  the  cart ;  we  shall  not  be  dis- 
turbed." 

Mr.  Bravery  put  his  pencil  into  his  pocket. 

"  Well,  now,  Mrs.  Child,  we'll  pull  him 
through,  whatever  it  is." 

"  It's  about  the  girl,  Lot," 

"About  Lot?" 

"  Yes,  sir  ;   I'm  afraid  he's  after  Lot." 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  I  don't  trust  her :  she  won't  do  him 
any  good." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  Mr.  Bravery, 
sharply.  "  Why  do  you  say  that  ?  " 

"  I  know  all  about  her,"  said  Mrs.  Child. 
"  And  you  see  Humphrey  doesn't  know. 
I  daresay  he  thinks  she's  like  a  pretty, 
innocent  child.  That's  where  it  goes  to  my 
heart.  I  told  my  husband  last  night  how 
I'd  noticed  that  he  was  hanging  round 
after  her.  He  thought  Humphrey  wouldn't 
come  to  any  harm.  And  when  I  went  on 
pressing  him  about  it,  and  wanting  him  to 

124 


HUMPHREY'S  FIST 

tell  Humphrey  of  her,  he  said  it  would  do 
more  harm  than  good.  '  We've  thwarted 
him  over  one  thing,'  he  said  ;  '  he  won't 
take  it  from  us  to  thwart  him  over  another.' ' 

"  She  is  like  a  pretty,  innocent  child," 
said  Mr.  Bravery. 

"  I  wouldn't  like  to  bring  it  up  against 
her,  what  she's  done  in  the  past.  But 
when  it's  your  own  son  !  Will  you  tell 
him  all  about  her,  so  that  he  will  know  ? 
Will  you  tell  Humphrey  ?  I  think  he  would 
listen  to  you,  and  not  be  turned  against  you." 

Mr.  Bravery  was  unconsciously  holding 
the  arms  of  his  chair  very  tightly,  and  his 
face  looked  rather  drawn  as  he  said  to  Mrs. 
Child : 

"  And  what  should  I  have  to  tell  him  ?  " 

"  Tell  him  she's  wicked,"  said  Mrs.  Child, 
excitedly.  "  Tell  him  she  made  a  man 
shoot  himself  dead." 

Mr.  Bravery  was  silent,  and  passed  a  cold 
hand  over  his  forehead. 

"  You  know,  sir,  she  comes  from  down 
at  West  Corning.  That's  over  the  other 
side  of  the  county,  thirty  miles  away. 
My  sister,  Maude  Cattermole,  has  lived 
there  ever  since  she  married  ;  her  husband 
runs  the  mill  there — Cattermole  and  Lee. 
She's  seen  Lot  grow  up  from  a  child.  Of 
course  she  wrote  and  told  me  all  about  her." 

125 


LOT  BARROW 

"  Who's  that  outside  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Bra- 
very, listening. 

"  Is  anyone  there  ?  "  They  heard  the 
clattering  of  pails.  "  Oh,  it  must  be 
Humphrey.  Perhaps  he  won't  come  in." 

"  Speak  quietly.  What  did  your  sister 
tell  you  about  her  ?  v 

"  She  had  a  young  man  ;  he  lived  in  a 
village  just  over  the  downs,  seven  miles 
away.  Lot  was  supposed  to  be  a  great 
runner  ;  they  say  that  when  she  went  over 
the  hills  to  meet  him,  she  would  run  for 
miles.  That  wasn't  natural,  was  it  ?  The 
poor  young  man  was  very  gone  on  her. 
But  she  was  a  bad  girl,  and  one  day  when 
she  thought  he  was  safely  away  she  took 
up  with  someone  else." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  ': 

"  Know  ?  Her  young  man  caught  her 
at  it.  Yes,  sir.  He  saw  her  in  a  barn, 
with  another  man.  He  saw  her  kiss  him. 
Her  father  was  lying  at  death's  door  at  the 
time,  but  that  didn't  check  her." 

'What  happened  ?  " 

"  Lot  suddenly  saw  his  face  at  the  door, 
and  she  ran  to  speak  to  him.  But  he  didn't 
wait.  That  poor  young  man  turned  straight 
round  and  walked  home.  It  appeared 
afterwards  that  someone  met  him  as  he 
was  going  out  of  the  village  and  spoke  to 

126 


HUMPHREY'S  FIST 

him.  But  he  didn't  answer,  and  walked 
straight  on,  like  as  if  he  was  deaf.  He 
went  home  and  shot  himself  dead." 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  Lot  never  told  me. 
She  gave  me  to  understand  that  she  had 
merely  quarrelled  with  someone  who  was 
still  living.  The  wildest  stories  get  about. 
Of  course  I  know  you  speak  in  good  faith, 
Mrs.  Child — but  somehow  I  don't  fancy 
she  would  have  given  me  a  false  im- 
pression." 

"  She  gave  you  a  false  impression  if  she 
said  anything  different  from  what  I've  told 
you.  I  know,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Child  humbly, 
"  that  you  wouldn't  like  to  believe  harm  of 
anyone  young  and  handsome  like  Lot. 
No  more  wouldn't  Humphrey.  He'd  not 
take  it  well  from  his  father  or  me." 

"I  see  that  point,"  said  Mr.  Bravery, 
trying  to  be  very  clear-headed.  "  Yes, 
quite  so." 

Mrs.  Child  was  sitting  with  her  back  to 
the  window,  so  she  did  not  see  what  Mr. 
Bravery  now  saw — that  Humphrey  came 
and  leaned  on  the  sill  and  looked  inside. 
So  she  said  : 

"  Tell  Humphrey  about  her  for  me,  and 
I  shall  always  be  grateful  to  you,  sir." 

Humphrey  had  come  to  ask  his  mother 
to  pass  him  out  a  glass  of  water  to  drink 

127 


LOT  BARROW 

— a  thing  she  had  to  do  very  often  during 
these  long  summer  days.  But  instead  he 
said  :  "  What's  this  he's  got  to  tell  me  ?  " 

"  Come  inside,  Humphrey,"  said  his 
mother,  in  an  awed  tone. 

'  Yes,  I'll  come  inside,"  said  Humphrey, 
in  a  voice  that  sounded  threatening,  to  his 
mother's  apprehension. 

He  came  round  slowly,  with  his  indolent 
stride.  He  took  no  notice  of  his  mother, 
and  sat  down  opposite  to  Mr.  Bravery. 

"I'm  not  asking  you  for  any  information, 
sir,"  he  said.  "  But  if  you  want  to  tell 
me  anything  I  don't  know,  I'll  listen." 

"  Humphrey !  "  said  his  mother,  ex- 
postulating ;  for  she  was  not  afraid  to 
scold  him  when  she  thought  he  was  wrong. 
"  Anything  Mr.  Bravery  says  to  you,  he'll 
say  it  for  your  good.  Be  more  civil." 
But  her  son  took  as  little  notice  as  if  he 
had  not  heard  her. 

"  I  was  going  to  take  you  into  my 
confidence  in  regard  to  certain  matters 
concerning  Lot,"  said  Mr.  Bravery,  slowly. 
"  I  can't  help  thinking,  however,  Mrs. 
Child,  that  Lot  herself  should  be  in  some 
way  consulted  first.  I  should  at  least  like 
to  hear  her  confirm  the  story." 

"  If  you  speak  out  I  daresay  I  can 
tell  you  if  it's  true  or  not  true,"  said 

128 


HUMPHREY'S  FIST 

Humphrey,  still  with  some  kind  of  antagon- 
ism in  his  voice. 

Mr.  Bravery  again  put  his  hand  to  his 
head. 

"  I  think,"  he  said,  in  the  same  slow 
voice,  "  that,  apart  from  Lot,  the  only 
people  who  could  do  that  are  those  to  whom 
she  has  personally  related  her  story."  -M 

"Yes,"  said  Humphrey.  "Well,  she's 
told  me  the  whole  business."  He  stood  up 
and  held  his  fist  over  the  table.  The 
others  waited  for  that  fist  to  descend. 
"  And  damn  me,"  said  Humphrey,  with 
a  tremendous  bang,  "if  I'm  going  to  hear 
it  from  anybody  else." 

Lot  had  been  sent  to  the  village,  and  Mrs. 
Child  had  added :  "It  won't  matter  if 
you're  not  back  for  an  hour  or  two."  And 
having  done  her  commissions,  Lot  went 
by  the  quickest,  steepest  path  up  on  to 
the  hills. 

It  was  a  grey  day,  with  a  noisy  wind. 
She  bounded  up,  to  be  more  and  more 
blown  upon.  At  the  top,  her  straggling 
hair  was  like  a  score  of  whips  to  sting  her 
cheek.  The  shortest  grass  was  quivering. 
She  sat  down  and  took  off  her  shoes  and 
stockings.  As  she  did  so,  she  looked  down 
and  away,  over  a  thousand  fields,  lying 

129  K 


LOT  BARROW 

under  the  quick  sky.  The  hedges  looked 
dark  and  sombre  ;  the  brightest  crop  made 
no  show  to-day,  lost  in  the  flat,  grey  fields. 

'  There's  running  against  the  wind,  and 
there's  running  with  the  wind,"  Lot  was 
thinking.  "  I  can  have  my  way.  Running 
with  the  wind  is  like  flying,  but  then  run- 
ning against  the  wind  you  have  to  take 
such  grand,  deep  breaths."  That  last  was 
what  she  chose  for  her  mood  of  exaltation. 
She  longed  for  the  most  arduous  movement, 
the  most  penetrating  breath,  to  accord  her 
body  with  the  rare  ecstasy  of  her  mind. 
Ever  since  her  wonderful  talk  with  Mr. 
Bravery  last  night  all  speech  had  been  too 
meaningless  for  her,  all  movement  had 
been  too  slow,  and  Nature  too  universal. 
Now  she  ran  to  face  the  wind,  swift  and 
straight,  her  body  slightly  lowered  by 
bending,  her  white  legs  moving  quicker 
than  vision,  and  her  skirt  fluttering  stiffly 
about  her.  She  ran  untiringly,  and  then 
drifted  back  to  where  her  little  heap  of 
discarded  footgear  lay. 

Coming  again  to  the  farm,  she  wondered 
if  she  would  have  any  talk  with  Mr.  Bravery 
that  evening.  She  found  no  one  in  the 
kitchen.  She  went  into  the  front  passage 
to  see  if  Mr.  Bravery's  door  was  open  or 
shut.  The  outside  of  that  door  was  the 

130 


HUMPHREY'S  FIST 

thing  she  most  loved  to  look  upon,  when 
she  could  not  be  in  Mr.  Bravery's  room 
itself. 

The  door  was  open,  and  her  step  had  no 
sooner  sounded  in  the  passage  than  she  heard 
her  name  called.  Mr.  Bravery  had  been 
listening  for  her. 


131 


CHAPTER  SIXTEEN:   LOT'S  TALE 

"  OIT  down,  will  you,  Lot  ?  Perhaps 
O  you  would  like  to  take  off  your 
hat.  I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

'  Yes,  sir."  Her  young,  eager  face  was 
still  bright  with  her  exercise,  and  she  had 
a  joyous  look.  She  took  off  her  hat,  and 
gave  her  hair  a  furtive  stroke,  longing,  as 
always,  to  impress  him  with  beauty. 

"  It  has  happened,  Lot,  that  Mrs.  Child 
had  reason  to  tell  me  this  afternoon  what 
she  knows  of  your  history  before  you  came 
here 

"  She  told  you  !  "  whispered  Lot,  pale  to 
the  lips.  It  seemed  to  her  that  it  was  for 
this  she  had  so  long  hated  Mrs.  Child. 

"  I  think  if  you  knew  what  she  had  in 
her  mind  you  would  not  particularly  blame 
her.  But  whether  you  blame  her  or  not, 
whether  she  was  right  or  wrong,  doesn't 
matter  now.  It  is  of  something  else  that 
I  wish  to  speak."  Mr.  Bravery  had  been 
looking  away  from  her,  but  now  he  almost 
broke  her  heart  with  a  cold,  angry  look  from 
his  eyes. 

"  You  seem  to  have  chosen  me  out  to 

132 


LOT'S  TALE 

deceive  me,  Lot.  Somehow  that  hurts  me. 
You  see  I  thought  you  had  chosen  me  out 
to  be  your  friend." 

"So  I  did"  said  Lot.  She  longed  to 
throw  herself  on  his  breast  and  sob  out  all 
her  grief ;  but  she  remained  still,  in  her 
fear. 

"  Over  and  over  again  you  must  have 
said  little  untrue  things  to  me.  To  me  ! 
Why  to  me  ?  " 

"  You're  the  only  one  I  cared  for." 

"  You  appear  to  have  told  Humphrey 
Child,  who,  so  far  as  I  know,  bore  no  special 
relation  to  you.  Why  should  you  tell 
him  and  not  me  ?  " 

If  Lot  had  simply  told  her  reason  for 
enlightening  Humphrey,  Mr.  Bravery's 
resentment  on  that  score  must  have 
vanished.  But  she  did  not  make  out  the 
best  case  for  herself  :  she  nattered  him. 

"  Oh,  because  you  see  I  didn't  mind  so 
much  his  knowing,"  she  said,  smiling  at 
Mr.  Bravery  in  a  way  which  tried  to  be 
winning,  in  spite  of  her  dreadful  nervous- 
ness. 

He  turned  away  his  head  from  the  silly, 
meaningless  smile,  feeling  sick  at  heart. 

"  I  see,"  he  said.  "  Yes,  I  see.  Poor 
Lot  —  how  hard  things  have  been  for 

you." 

133 


LOT  BARROW 

"  Hard  !  "  she  echoed,  in  bitter  excite- 
ment. "  There's  no  good  talking  about 
hard.  You  want  to  live  through  it.  I 
thought  it  was  getting  past,  but  of  course 
it  can't ;  it's  all  on  me  again  now.  What 
did  she  tell  you  ? "  she  asked,  fiercely. 
"  Did  she  tell  you  how  I  tried  not  to — to — 
no,  she  wouldn't  tell  you  that.  Oh,  how 
I  hate  her  !  How  I  hate  her  !  " 

"  I  knew  you  tried  not  to  do  wrong, 
Lot,"  said  Mr.  Bravery,  feeling  a  little  less 
hardly  towards  her.  "  I  knew  that  without 
her  telling  me." 

"  No  one  knows.  I'll  tell  you  now,  and 
then  you'' II  know."  Lot  was  swaying  to 
and  fro  in  her  chair.  She  locked  her  hands 
together.  She  made  a  great  effort  to 
swallow ;  her  throat  ached  and  was  dry. 
"  I  loved  my  John — you  know,  John  Frean, 
my  young  man.  We'd  known  each  other 
from  children,  and  I'd  always  liked  him 
more  than  anyone,  and  we  were  going  to 
get  married.  He  was  jealous  of  me,  though 
I  never  gave  him  cause.  I  never  even  had 
a  bit  of  fun  with  anyone,  though  I  might 
have  done.  Then  up  at  the  Rectory  they 
started  having  some  building  done,  and 
one  of  the  men,  him  that  was  the  master- 
builder,  was  always  looking  after  me.  He 
was  only  a  young  fellow,  sir,  but  he'd  come 

134 


LOT'S  TALE 

on  in  his  work.  I  tried  not  to  notice  him 
— oh,  I  tried  so  hard,  and  I  don't  believe 
I  ever  would  have  given  way  to  him  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  something  that  happened." 
"  Yes,  Lot,  tell  me  what  happened." 
"  They  had  a  school- treat,  sir,  and  sports. 
It  was  in  the  winter.  Oh,  yes,  it  was  the 
twenty-fifth  of  January.  Father  was 
managing  Scutt's  farm  for  him,  and  we 
lived  there.  You  wouldn't  know,  sir,  but 
there's  a  great  big  barn  there — ever  so 
big,  it  is.  And  they  borrowed  this  big 
barn  off  father,  to  have  the  treat  in.  Father 
was  lying  ill  in  bed,  but  they  asked  him, 
and  he  said  *  Yes.'  Father  was  proud  of 
that  barn,  sir ;  it  measured  eighty  feet  long. 
And  all  these  builders,  when  they'd  finished 
they  came  along  and  joined  in.  ...  They'd 
put  the  lights  out  of  the  way  of  the  children, 
but  there  was  one  girl  was  much  taller  than 
the  others — all  body  and  no  brains,  the 
school-teacher  used  to  say  she  was.  And 
her  hair  caught  in  the  light,  her  hair  and 
her  pinafore.  And  it  made  a  little  blaze ; 
I  saw  it,  and  I  screamed.  And,  sir,  he  was 
standing  by,  and  he  put  it  out.  I  saw  him 
do  it.  I  saw  him  put  his  hands  on  the  fire. 
She  might  have  been  killed,  but  he  saved 
her  .  .  .  And  then  he  looked  across  at 
me  where  I  was  standing,  and  I  looked 

135 


LOT  BARROW 

back  at  him  ;  and  then  I  looked  down, 
and  I  was  all  trembling.  Then  late  that 
night  I  went  out  to  shut  the  barn  doors. 
He  was  there,  waiting  for  me.  He  didn't 
say  anything,  and  I  tried  to  pass  him  by, 
but  I  couldn't.  I  ran  up  to  him,  sir.  At 
first  I  tried  to  kiss  his  hands,  but  they  were 
wrapped  up.  And  so  I  kissed  him.  It  was 
dark,  but  I  saw  someone  just  outside  the 
door.  I  couldn't  see  his  face,  but  I  knew 
the  shape  of  his  hat.  It  was  John.  He  had 
pretended  to  go  home,  but  he  had  been 
watching  really." 

"  Now,  now  Lot,  don't  cry  so.  It  is 
too  hard  for  you  to  tell." 

"  No,  I  must  tell  you.  I  won't  cry. 
At  first  I  wanted  to  hide.  I  stood  still, 
wondering  for  a  moment,  and  then  I  went 
to  try  and  find  him.  But  I  could  never 
find  him ;  I  don't  know  which  way  he 
went.  .  .  .  And  the  next  day  Mrs.  Catter- 
mole — that's  Mrs.  Child's  sister — came  and 
told  me — he  had  shot  himself.  And  I  said 
straight  out :  '  He  saw  me  kissing  another 
man  in  the  barn  ;  that's  why  he's  gone 
and  done  that.'  You  know,  sir,  at  first 
I  didn't  seem  to  understand.  Perhaps  I 
never  loved  him  properly — oh,  no,  I'm  sure 
now  I  didn't  love  him  properly.  And  so 
they  all  knew  in  the  village  why  he'd  shot 

136 


LOT'S  TALE 

himself.  And  all  that  morning  it  seemed 
dreadful — yes,  but  not  more  than  I  could 
bear.  And  then  suddenly  I  thought  I'd 
go  mad.  It  began  with  my  back  trembling. 
And  I  couldn't  get  it  to  stop.  And  that 
night  father  died,  in  the  middle  of  the 
night.  Oh,  my  God  !  Oh,  my  God  !  " 

Mr.  Bravery  went  and  put  his  arm  round 
her.  "  That  was  more  than  you  could 
bear.  Hush,  Lot ;  don't  cry  so.  No,  my 
dear,  don't  cry." 

"  Oh,  sir,  let  me  tell  you  everything.  And 
then  you  will  never  think  again  that  I  am 
deceiving  you.  .  .  .  Mrs.  Cattermole  came 
and  took  me  to  her  house.  I  was  so  glad 
to  go  to  be  with  anyone.  But  she  said 
we  must  go  over  to  John's  funeral.  We 
started  out  early  in  the  morning,  and  she 
said  I  must  see  John — for  the  last  time. 
I  asked  her  not  to  make  me  see  him.  She 
said  nothing  could  make  up  for  what  I'd 
done,  but  I'd  only  show  myself  to  be  more 
wicked  if  I  didn't  do  what  was  right  and 
natural  now.  And  when  we  got  to  the 
house  where  he  used  to  lodge,  she  took  me 
into  the  room,  and  then  she  went  away 
and  closed  the  door.  .  .  . 

"  I'd  never  thought  he'd  look  any  dif- 
ferent. I  didn't  know  where  he'd  shot 
himself.  And  I  screamed  and  screamed, 

137 


LOT  BARROW 

and  they  came  running  back.  And  they 
took  me  away,  but  I  never  stopped  scream- 
ing— not  until  my  throat  wouldn't  sound." 

Lot  sank  to  one  side  of  her  chair.  She  was 
very  pale,  and  her  body  was  limp  and  nerveless. 

"  Will  you  still  talk  to  me  sometimes — 
when  I  bring  in  your  dinner  ?  "  said  Lot, 
breaking  into  convulsive  sobs. 

"  Of  course  I  will.     Why,  of  course." 

"  Because  if  not  I  will  go  away.  I  was 
glad  to  leave  home,  because  everyone  knew 
about  me — even  the  children.  But  I  can 
go  somewhere  else." 

"  There  is  no  question  of  such  a  thing. 
You  must  stay  here  while  this  is  where  you 
like  to  be." 

"  I  am  glad,"  said  Lot,  more  happily. 
"  Because  you  see  you  help  me  so." 

He  smiled  a  little  vaguely  at  her,  and  then 
went  to  his  own  chair  again. 

"  When  you  first  told  me  there  was  no 
need  to  mind  about  things,  or  to  be  unhappy, 
it  seemed  as  if  it  couldn't  be  true.  And 
then  afterwards  it  seemed  as  if  it  made  me 
into  a  different  girl.  I  haven't  minded 
about  him  lately  the  same  as  I  used  to." 

Mr.  Bravery  shifted  in  his  chair. 

"  That's  right,  Lot,"  he  said,  a  little 
uneasily.  Her  face  was  looking  almost 
complacent  now ;  but  he  marvelled  at 

138 


LOT'S  TALE 

himself  that  he  should  even  prefer  to  see  it 
tortured.  Did  it  seem  to  him  unsuitable 
that  she  should  come  to  think  lightly  of  that 
tragedy  ?  He  had  done  his  best  in  the 
past  to  make  her  think  lightly  of  it. 

All  that  day  he  was  somewhat  dismayed 
by  the  extent  of  his  own  revulsion  of  feeling. 
He  could  not  clear  his  mind  from  a  thought 
of  her  dishonesty  with  him.  He  could  not 
forget  her  reserve  with  himself,  and  her 
rather  vulgar  confidence  in  such  a  compara- 
tive stranger  as  Humphrey  Child.  But 
perhaps  Humphrey  was  not  such  a  stranger, 
after  all.  Mr.  Bravery  tried  to  be  gratified 
that  it  was  from  him  alone  that  she  had 
tried  to  conceal  what  she  counted  for  shame. 
That  meant  that  she  held  him  differently 
from  everyone  else.  Ah,  but  how  poor  a 
comfort  that  thought  allowed  him ;  it 
even  seemed  to  add  to  an  immovable 
uneasiness  of  heart. 

He  was  uneasy  because  he  felt  a  fetter. 
If  only  he  could  think  that  Lot  realised  a 
change  in  their  position  !  Perhaps  she  did. 
Yes,  surely  she  did — for  had  she  not  asked 
only  that  he  should  sometimes  speak  to  her. 
The  smallness  of  that  demand  most  surely 
acknowledged  change — abolishing  what  had 
been  established  on  that  strange,  distant 
night  before. 

139 


CHAPTER  SEVENTEEN:  A  NICE 
PIECE  OF  FUR 

WHEREVER  Mrs.  Child  was  mistress, 
there  surely  would  the  birthday  of 
any  member  of  the  household  be  punc- 
tiliously celebrated.  There  was  a  kind  of 
gravity  or  heaviness  about  these  celebra- 
tions— perhaps  because  a  consciousness  of 
grim  duty  in  the  air  is  not  complimentary 
to  the  festive  spirit.  For  Mrs.  Child  so 
loved  birthdays  that  observing  them  was  a 
strict  and  serious  matter,  admitting  of  no 
laxity  or  reprieve.  Supposing  you  were 
there  at  the  farm  and  had  a  birthday,  none 
of  your  usual  off-hand  speeches  would  be 
at  all  suitable  as  a  reply  to  Mrs.  Child's 
formal  good  wishes.  You  may  be  in  the 
habit  of  saying  (with  an  entirely  proper 
wish  to  be  sprightly  over  a  rather  bad 
business)  :  "  Oh,  don't  talk  to  me  about 
birthdays  !  When  a  man  has  passed  forty  he 
should  be  spared  these  distressing  reminders." 
But  such  a  state  of  mind  would  be  entirely 
incomprehensible  to  Mrs.  Child.  Why  a 
birthday  should  be  less  of  a  birthday  because 
it  is  the  forty-fifth,  she  would  fail  to  see. 

140 


A  NICE  PIECE  OF  FUR 

Two  birthdays  occurred  at  the  farm 
within  a  few  days  of  each  other.  Mrs. 
Child  was  sure  to  see  to  it  that  the  second 
should  not  suffer  from  the  priority  of  the 
first.  She  was  safe  to  see  justice  done. 
The  second  should  be  just  as  ceremonious 
as  the  first,  even  though  it  was  in  no  way 
so  important  an  event.  For  the  first 
birthday  was  Mr.  Bravery's,  and  the  second 
was  Lot's. 

Lot  herself  was  deeply  excited  by  these 
two  events.  The  evening  before  his  birth- 
day Mr.  Bravery  found  an  unprofessional- 
looking  parcel  on  the  dinner-table,  and  he 
opened  it  to  find  himself  the  richer  by  a 
box  of  pink  note-paper,  labelled :  "A 
happy  birthday,  from  Lot."  Lot  herself 
came  in  shortly  afterwards  with  a  look  of 
shyness — shyness  which  tried  to  find  relief 
in  an  assumption  of  innocence  of  all  know- 
ledge that  anything  exceptional  had  taken 
place. 

"  Oh,  did  you  find  it,  sir  ?  "  she  asked,  on 
a  false  note  of  surprise  when  she  was 
thanked — as  if  the  parcel  had  been  hidden 
in  some  difficult  place  instead  of  being  put 
conspicuously  on  the  table. 

All  that  was  a  very  pleasant  and  even 
thrilling  affair  for  Lot,  to  be  lived  over 
and  over  again  in  her  mind.  A  pity, 

141 


LOT  BARROW 

perhaps,  that  she  had  been  utterly  unable 
to  postpone  the  presentation  until  the  day 
itself,  for  the  birthday  suffered  slightly 
from  a  certain  sense  of  accomplished  joys. 
But  she  still  had  her  own  birthday  to  look 
forward  to.  Her  heart  throbbed  to  think 
of  herself  receiving  the  slightest  present, 
no  matter  from  whom. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Child  made  her  a  present  of 
money,  and  Mr.  Bravery  gave  her  such  a 
box  of  sweets  as  she  had  never  seen  before, 
— sweets  so  gorgeous  that  Mrs.  Child  was 
led  to  insinuate  at  frequent  intervals  during 
the  day  that  they  were  far  too  good 
for  the  purpose  to  which  they  had  been 
applied. 

But  the  present  which  in  her  secret  heart 
Lot  loved  the  best  was  a  bit  of  fur  for  her 
neck,  which  was  sent  to  her  from  London 
by  Jennie  Parker.  It  was  a  poor  piece  of 
fur,  arguable  as  to  its  species  only  by  those 
unfamiliar  with  our  domestic  pets  ;  but 
it  had  a  strange  fascination  for  Lot,  who 
tried  it  on  again  and  again,  and  was  thrilled 
to  feel  the  touch  of  it  on  her  neck.  During 
the  next  few  weeks  she  wore  it  even  to  go 
down  the  garden  to  hang  out  the  clothes. 
"  It's  come  over  so  cold,"  she  would  say, 
having  developed  a  rather  acute  sensibility, 
evidently. 

142 


A  NICE  PIECE  OF  FUR 

On  her  birthday  Lot  had  her  favourite 
cold  pudding  for  tea,  and  when  she  went  up 
to  bed  she  carried  her  treasures  with  her, 
and  disposed  them  lovingly  in  her  room, 
feeling  that  the  world  was  a  store-place  of 
happiness. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Child  downstairs  discussed 
events. 

"  She's  a  fortunate  young  girl,"  said  Mr. 
Child,  "  and  I  hope  she  knows  it."  He  was 
conscious  of  having  given  Lot  sixpence  more 
than  her  predecessors  had  received  on 
similar  occasions. 

Mrs.  Child's  mind  embraced  not  only 
that  extra  sixpence,  but  the  handsome  box 
of  sweets  as  well. 

"  She  gave  him  a  little  box  of  notepaper 
which  she  bought  over  at  Webb's,"  she 
said.  "  It  looks  to  me  very  much  like  as 
though  she'd  set  a  sprat  to  catch  a  mackerel, 
though  I  daresay  if  I  was  to  say  so  she'd 
just  as  soon  strike  me  dead." 

Many  days  after,  Mrs.  Child  came  into 
the  kitchen  and  found  Lot  stooping  by  the 
fire,  mopping  something  with  her  hand- 
kerchief. 

"  Well,  it's  done  for  now,  anyway,"  said 
Mrs.  Child,  not  without  a  little  good-natured 
malice,  as  she  caught  sight  of  the  unpleasant 
wet  substance  that  Lot  was  tending.  "  I 

143 


LOT  BARROW 

told    you  it  would  come   on   to  rain,  but 
you  wouldn't  believe  me." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Lot,  not  looking  up,  as 
she  breathed  hard  over  her  task  ;  "it  will 
come  up  nicely." 


144 


CHAPTER  EIGHTEEN:  MEMORY 
COTTAGE 

MR.  BRAVERY  packed  up  his  essays 
and  sent  them  to  town,  feeling 
rather  scornful  of  a  world  capable,  perhaps, 
of  accepting  such  stuff  and  at  the  same  time 
of  rejecting  the  real  thing.  And  on  the 
day  when  he  posted  the  essays  he  went  for 
a  long  walk. 

Ever  since  he  came  to  Wiggonholt  he  had 
rather  neglected  the  plain  for  the  hills. 
The  hills  are  very  exacting,  if  you  love  them 
at  all.  But  now  to-day  he  took  a  long  walk 
through  roads  and  lanes  and  field-paths 
to  the  north,  and  the  sun  was  shining,  and 
blackberry-blossom  falling  ;  there  was  an 
unfitful,  just  perceptible  breeze  from  the 
east. 

It  was  a  very  rich  world,  very  full  of 
things.  In  every  ten  yards  of  hedge  Mr. 
Bravery  might  find  ten  things  of  peculiar 
interest  to  him.  His  feeling  was  not  so 
much  that  which  comes  from  conscious 
admiration,  as  that  which  comes  from 
knowledge  and  experience.  He  had  kept 
open  eyes  in  the  country  all  his  life ;  it 

145  L 


LOT  BARROW 

was  pure  habit  with  him  to  discern  an 
unusual  growth  or  a  low  nest  or  an  early 
flower,  and  to  stop,  and  investigate,  and 
pass  on. 

He  played  with  himself  a  kind  of  serious, 
speculative  game  as  regards  footpaths. 
He  could  not  resist  them,  but  they  are 
surprising  and  deceptive,  and  sometimes 
they  were  master,  sometimes  he  was.  It  is  a 
good  game  for  a  tireless  walker.  You  must, 
of  course,  have  a  journey's  end  in  view, 
else  obviously  there  is  no  matter  for  con- 
tention between  you  and  the  path.  Mr. 
Bravery  had  set  himself  the  mark  of  a 
village  fifteen  miles  away.  That  would  be 
thirty  miles  when  he  reached  home.  He  had, 
therefore,  at  least  one  of  the  desirable 
conditions  for  that  game  with  the  foot- 
paths— he  had  the  sense  that  a  mile  saved 
here  and  there  would  be  a  welcome  con- 
cession to  his  limbs.  But,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  it  does  not  do  to  be  too  honest  with 
yourself  if  you  are  a  footpath-finder.  You 
may  tell  your  legs  that  here  is  a  delightful 
opportunity  to  save  them  some  beastly 
fag.  But  you  know  in  your  heart  that  a 
hole  in  the  hedge,  or  an  uncertain  path, 
or  the  dry  way  through  a  bog  (which 
is  probably  somewhere,  if  one  could  only 
find  it)  does  not  save  the  miles. 

146 


MEMORY  COTTAGE 

But  Mr.  Bravery  was  almost  tireless ; 
and  sometimes  he  forgot  all  about  economy 
of  distance,  and  went  out  of  his  way  to 
walk  by  water,  or  mounted  little  grassy 
hills  merely  to  be  at  the  top. 

It  was  when  he  was  returning  at  dusk, 
and  was  not  much  more  than  a  mile  from 
the  farm,  that  he  saw  something  even  more 
alluring  than  anything  he  had  •  seen  that 
day.  It  was  a  cottage  standing  in  a  field 
— strong,  square  and  white.  It  made  no 
pretension  to  beauty — its  beauty  was  all 
accidental  to  its  use  ;  its  walls  seemed  to 
lay  claim  to  nothing  but  thickness,  and  its 
large  sash-windows  to  nothing  but  the 
capability  of  passing  light,  plenty  of  light. 
No  ground  was  enclosed  round  it,  and  a 
man  who  lived  there  must  step  out  from 
his  door  straight  into  the  fields  of  England. 
A  few  yards  from  the  cottage  there  was  an 
ancient  well,  with  an  old  stone  piece  of 
roofing  over  it. 

It  chanced  that  Mr.  Bravery  was  face  to 
face  with  his  ideal  dwelling-place.  He 
wralked  to  what  must  be  called  the  back, 
if  a  modest  little  door  in  the  other  side 
gives  to  that  the  dignity  of  front.  The 
house  was  so  unembellished  bv  road  or 

«/ 

path  or  tree  that  its  position  in  the  field 
had  a  kind  of  arbitrary  charm  ;   there  was 

147 


LOT  BARROW 

no  garden-entrance  to  emphasise  its  placing 
and  direction.  He  looked  in  through  the 
curtainless  windows  ;  the  rooms  were  bare ; 
he  tried  the  door,  and  that  was  locked. 

At  the  farm  Mr.  Child  had  finished  his 
work  early,  and  was  sitting  in  the  garden 
outside  the  kitchen  door,  waiting  for  his 
tea.  Mrs.  Child  had  taken  the  opportunity 
of  Mr.  Bravery's  long  day's  absence  to 
establish  certain  reforms  in  his  room.  At 
present  she  was  renewing  the  flower-pots 
in  the  window.  Lot  was  peeling  potatoes 
in  the  kitchen. 

She  did  the  potatoes  mechanically  and 
quickly,  turning  every  now  and  then  to 
gaze  out  of  the  window  with  a  dreamy 
stare  while  her  fingers  still  worked.  Her 
thoughts  were  perpetually  with  Mr.  Bravery, 
and  she  was  happy.  Happy,  but  anxious 
at  the  same  time.  Because  she  wanted  the 
bonds  strengthened ;  she  wanted  to  know 
that  her  dreadful  story  had  not  changed 
him  towards  her.  He  had  been  wonderful 
to  her,  and  gentle  ;  but  she  was  anxious 
lest  there  might  not  be  in  him  some  thought 
turned  against  her — either  because  she  had 
been  slow  to  tell,  or  because  of  what  she 
had  told.  She  could  only  hope  and  trust 
and,  when  the  occasion  offered,  show  him 

148 


MEMORY  COTTAGE 

how  blindly  she  followed  him,  and  how 
wildly  she  loved  him. 

She  heard  Mrs.  Child  limp  into  the  room, 
and  then  the  sharp  voice  spoke  just  behind 
her. 

"  Good  gracious,  Lot,  you  haven't  got 
to  peel  them  potatoes.  Do  you  suppose 
we  can  afford  to  throw  away  good  food  ? 
You've  got  to  clean  those  !  " 

"  They  won't  clean,"  said  Lot,  passion- 
ately. She  had  been  startled  by  the  sudden, 
sharp  remonstrance  at  her  back,  and  when 
she  was  startled  she  always  relapsed  into 
anger. 

"  Look  here,  young  girl ;  we  don't  peel 
potatoes  in  beginning  of  September.  We 
clean  them.  That's  the  custom  here ;  I 
don't  know  what  they  did  where  you  come 
from."  She  took  the  knife  from  Lot's 
wet  hand,  and  a  potato  from  the  basin, 
and  her  expert  fingers  seemed  to  scrape  it 
with  little  trouble. 

"  You  couldn't  have  cleaned  the  one  I 
tried,"  said  Lot,  a  world  of  anger  and 
offended  dignity  in  her  eyes. 

"  Guessing's  nobody's  business,"  said 
Mrs.  Child,  "but  I  shouldn't  think  you 
ever  had  much  praise  for  kitchen  work." 

Unhappy  Lot  then  laid  the  table.  At 
every  meal  she  must  carry  to  and  fro  from 

149 


LOT  BARROW 

its  home  in  the  cupboard  in  the  passage  a 
weighty  ornamental  cruet,  too  good  for 
vinegar  and  oil  and  pepper,  but  never 
deprived  of  its  place  in  the  centre  of  the 
table.  Mrs.  Child  liked  to  see  plenty  of 
cutlery,  for  she  regarded  it  as  little  short 
of  a  tragedy  if  any  one  lacked  something 
and  had  to  get  up  to  fetch  it.  And  so  Lot 
always  laid  in  Mr.  Child's  place  the  fork 
which  he  rarely  used,  for  he  never  enjoyed 
his  food  so  much  as  when  he  skilfully  plied 
his  knife.  Numerous  little  glass  bottles  of 
salt  and  pepper  and  mustard  were  placed 
at  the  corners  of  the  table  for  all  the  meals. 
There  were  gilded  tin  stands  for  the  teapot 
and  hot- water  jug — indeed,  a  host  of  ob- 
jects, which  made  their  numerous  daily 
pilgrimages  at  the  hands  of  Lot. 

When  they  had  finished  tea,  Mr.  Bravery 
came  and  knocked  at  the  door.  He  was 
so  much  a  friend  that  he  came  and  went 
with  little  ceremony.  But  Lot  always 
marvelled  to  see  him  with  other  people — 
to  see  him  with  men,  for  whom  he  had  no 
exquisite  glamour,  with  whom  he  was  an 
ordinary  human  being.  It  was  such  a 
strange,  strange  thing  to  realise  that  they 
did  not  have  to  look  at  him  when  he  spoke, 
that  they  were  careless  whether  he  came  or 
went,  indifferent  if  they  brushed  his 

150 


MEMORY  COTTAGE 

shoulder.  For  Lot  those  things  were  the 
wild  breath  of  life. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Child  were  respectfully 
amused  at  Mr.  Bravery's  walking  for  the 
sake  of  walking,  and  eager  to  hear  where 
he  had  been.  They  were  both  very  familiar 
with  the  country-side,  having  lived  all 
their  lives  in  neighbouring  parts  of  it. 
Poor  Mr.  Bravery  was  sadly  taxed,  however, 
to  make  it  clear  to  them  what  his  route 
had  been.  They  pondered  together  as  to 
which  road  he  meant,  or  which  path,  or 
which  stream.  They  generally  began  by 
having  a  difference  of  opinion,  but  really 
only  because  Mrs.  Child  had  a  kind  of 
habit  of  supplying  the  occasion  for  Mr. 
Child  triumphantly  to  prove  his  point. 

Mr.  Bravery  was  rather  bored  with  all 
these  explanations  :  there  was  one  point 
he  really  did  want  to  get  at,  and  eventually 
he  was  able  to  put  his  question. 

"Well,  now,  Child,"  he  said,  "there's 
an  empty  white  cottage  up  beyondBrewster's 
fields,  not  more  than  a  mile  from  this  spot. 
Can  you  tell  me  about  that  ?  " 

Mr.  Child  considered  carefully,  not  to 
commit  himself.  His  wife  looked  hope- 
fully and  a  little  anxiously  at  him,  knowing 
well  in  her  loving  heart  how  exceedingly  he 
should  dislike  not  to  be  able  to  answer. 

151 


LOT  BARROW 

"  He  wouldn't  mean  Dow's  cottage  ?  " 
she  said,  tentatively,  to  her  husband.  She 
did  not  mind  being  wrong  herself ;  in  fact 
if,  at  this  difficult  juncture,  she  at  least 
gave  her  husband  an  opportunity  to  dis- 
play superior  judgment,  so  much  the  better. 

"Now,  my  girl,"  said  Mr.  Child,  patiently, 
"  didn't  you  hear  Mr.  Bravery  mention 
Brewster's  fields  ?  It's  the  first  time  I've 
been  led  to  understand  that  Dow's  cottage 
was  up  by  Brewster's  fields." 

He  paused  carefully.  "  Would  it  stand 
right  by  the  road  ?  "  he  asked. 

Mr.  Bravery  tried  to  explain  more  par- 
ticularly the  situation.  "  It  was  all  very 
quiet,"  he  ended,  "  and  there  was  a  horse 
rubbing  his  back  against  the  side  of  the 
house." 

"  Yes,  it's  a  quiet  little  place,"  said  Mr. 
Child,  coolly.  "  Very  quiet.  But  it's  water- 
tight, so  far  as  I'm  aware  of." 

It  might  now  reasonably  be  supposed  that 
Mr.  Child  had  identified  the  house  at  its 
first  mention,  and  had  merely  been  playing 
with  their  curiosity.  His  audience  was 
willing  enough  to  be  impressed  with  this 
theory. 

- "  Yes,  it's  quite  compact,"  continued 
Mr.  Child.  "  But  it  wouldn't  do,  not  for  a 
man  who  wanted  to  grow.  There's  no 

152 


land  attaching."  He  then  explained  to  his 
wife,  who  was  looking  at  him  in  triumphant 
admiration.  "  Mr.  Bravery's  been  speaking 
of  Memory  Cottage,  my  dear — what  those 
family  of  Fitches  have  just  come  out  of." 

"  Is  that  what  it's  called  ?  Well,  Mrs. 
Child,  if  ever  I  could  make  up  my  mind  to 
leave  you,  that's  where  I  should  go.  Just 
learn  anything  you  can  about  it,  will  you, 
Child  ?  I  may  end  my  days  there." 

Poor  Mrs.  Child  now  took  an  unaccount- 
able dislike  to  Memory  Cottage. 

"  I've  no  doubt  it's  very  unsanitary," 
she  said. 

"  You've  no  call  to  say  so,  my  girl.  No 
call  at  all,"  said  Mr.  Child.  For  he  did 
not  understand  his  wife's  little  weaknesses 
as  she  understood  his. 

Lot  also  had  received  this  first  hint  of 
departure  with  dismay.  And  because  she 
felt  herself  so  large  and  obvious,  sitting  idle 
at  the  table,  she  got  up  and  quietly  cleared 
the  things  away.  But  as  she  drew  hot 
water  from  the  boiler  on  the  fire,  a  sudden 
wave  of  joy  came  over  her  with  a  new 
aspect  of  the  matter.  She  believed  that 
cottage — Memory  Cottage — was  for  him 
and  for  her  together.  He  had  said :  "I 
would  take  you  away  " — and  he  had  found 
the  place. 

153 


LOT  BARROW 

Mr.  Bravery  went  back  and  back  to  the 
cottage — a  habit  which  Mrs.  Child  viewed 
with  the  greatest  uneasiness.  She  was  not 
in  the  least  concerned  to  think  she  would 
forego  the  monetary  advantage  of  Mr. 
Bravery's  presence  ;  but  he  happened  to 
have  her  rare,  deep  affection,  and  she 
dreaded  the  time  when  she  should  cease  to 
serve  him. 

The  time  when  he  should  no  longer  be  in 
his  accustomed  place  at  the  farm  seemed  to 
come  near  at  a  double  pace.  Not  only  were 
days  passing  to  reach  that  dreadful  day, 
but  in  another  sense  the  dreadful  day  itself 
was  moving  towards  them  at  a  rapid  rate. 
At  first  Mr.  Bravery  would  only  end  his 
days  there.  And  then  he  spoke  of  the 
spring  !  And  then  he  wondered  how  he 
should  fare  in  cold  weather  among  the 
winter  fields.  And  finally  he  considered 
that  if  he  cleared  away  from  the  farm  before 
Miss  Marsy  and  Marjorie  Fulleylove  re- 
turned, it  would  be  all  the  nicer  and  cosier 
for  them,  and  he  could  come  over  every  day. 

Finally,  in  case  there  might  be  a  demand 
for  the  empty  cottage,  he  walked  one 
morning  seven  miles  to  the  owner's  house, 
and  did  business.  When  he  had  to  choose 
whether  he  would  buy  or  hire,  he  chose  to 
buy,  because  he  knew  how  he  loved  it. 

154 


MEMORY  COTTAGE 

His  next  move  was  to  go  into  Lewington 
and  buy  deal  chairs  and  tables  and  thick 
crockery,  from  a  list  prepared  for  him  with 
a  pitiful  mixture  of  feelings  by  Mrs.  Child. 
She  liked  to  be  of  use  to  him,  but  she  only 
wished  he  could  have  been  content  to  stay 
at  the  farm.  All  last  winter  the  evenings 
had  not  seemed  so  long  and  dull  as  they 
used,  because  it  had  been  so  nice  to  feel 
he  was  there,  and  to  take  care  of  him,  and 
exchange  a  joke.  But  this  winter  she 
would  not  have  him.  Now  if  only  it  had 
been  with  a  bride,  she  would  not  so  have 
minded  his  going  off,  for  there  would  have 
been  reason  in  that. 


155 


CHAPTER  NINETEEN:   THROUGH 
FIELDS 

LOT  spoke  a  blessed  truth  when  she 
told  Mr.  Bravery  that  she  no  longer 
was  so  troubled  about  the  tragedy  of  her 
past.  There  had  indeed  come  an  allevia- 
tion, which  seemed  marvellous  and  almost 
incredible  to  her,  who  had  thought  to  carry 
that  horror  all  her  life.  She  lived  now 
very  urgently  in  her  present ;  that  tremb- 
ling low  in  her  back  never  visited  her  ;  and 
if  she  lay  awake  at  night  it  was  not  to 
writhe  under  those  memories. 

The  change  had  come  gradually,  and  she 
was  very  slow  to  realise  it  or  count  upon 
it.  Until  that  day  when  she  had  opened 
all  her  heart  to  Mr.  Bravery,  and  those 
words  issued  forth  with  the  rest :  "I  don't 
mind  about  him  now  the  same  as  I  used 
to,"  she  had  never  made  an  acknow- 
ledgment to  herself  of  the  wonderful  fact 
that  grief  and  horror  were  no  longer  the 
first  things  in  her  heart.  But  the  words 
she  spoke  in  her  own  truthful  outburst 
had  enlightened  her,  and  she  had  known 
ever  since  that  that  miracle  had  happened. 

156 


THROUGH  FIELDS 

Now  this  change  in  herself  she  put  down 
to  one  only  cause.  She  put  it  down  to 
Mr.  Bravery's  lesson.  He  had  told  her 
long  ago  what  he  thought  about  unhappi- 
ness ;  he  had  taken  every  opportunity  to 
tell  her.  At  first  she  had  listened  with 
the  ears  of  pure  faith — that  is  to  say,  she 
had  believed  what  she  could  not  compre- 
hend. But  now  she  saw  him  justified  and 
exalted,  his  wisdom  proved.  She  attri- 
buted none  of  her  alleviation  to  the  healing 
process  of  time  (she  was  so  young  as  to  be 
ignorant  of  our  debt  to  time),  and  none  to 
the  excluding  power  of  other  vital  interests. 
She  put  everything  at  Mr.  Bravery's  door : 
he  had  done  wonderful  things  for  her,  and 
she  blessed  him. 

Her  daily  thoughts  were  entirely  with  Mr. 
Bravery.  She  had  great  ecstatic  hopes 
that  at  any  moment — in  whatever  room 
her  work  might  have  taken  her,  or  down 
this  garden-path,  or  in  this  meadow — she 
might  meet  him,  and  he  would  look  at  her 
and  take  her  hand,  and  express  his  need  of 
her.  She  lived  with  this  phantom  presence 
— a  wonderful  phantom,  that  said  words 
she  glowed  to  hear.  She  longed  for  Mr. 
Bravery,  and  the  phantom  was  there  at 
her  side,  speaking  of  love,  and  taking  her 
to  its  heart.  Once,  coming  suddenly  from 

157 


LOT  BARROW 

the  imaginary  presence  into  the  real,  she 
was  shocked  at  so  much  contrast.  To  see 
Mr.  Bravery  sitting  over  his  book,  and  only 
giving  one  swift  glance  upward,  just  to  see 
who  it  was  that  came  into  the  room,  was 
too  terribly  remote  from  where  her  dreams 
had  taken  her.  And  then  she  found  that 
humble  favours  from  the  real  man  had  far 
more  sweetness  than  the  best  gifts  the 
generous  phantom  could  bestow.  For  when 
Mr.  Bravery  merely  looked  up  again  and 
smiled,  and  said :  "  How  well  you  look, 
Lot !  "  happiness  pierced  her  very  inmost 
heart. 

It  was  therefore  very  sad  to  her  that  he 
should  be  leaving  the  farm.  She  had  been 
obliged  to  give  up  the  idea  that  he  intended 
to  take  her  with  him  at  first.  In  her  own 
mind  she  only  postponed  her  going ;  but 
it  was  evident  that  he  wanted  to  go  alone 
in  the  beginning.  Of  course  she  had  all 
kinds  of  heavenly  thoughts  and  hopes — 
that  he  was  going  to  prepare  for  her,  that 
he  would  come  one  day  and  fetch  her  before 
the  astonished  gaze  of  Mrs.  Child.  But 
the  fact  remained  that  she  had  to  face  an 
uncertain  period  of  separation  from  him. 

A  little  while  ago  she  could  hardly  have 
endured  to  be  left  indefinitely  with  Mrs. 
Child  without  the  solace  of  Mr.  Bravery's 

158 


THROUGH  FIELDS 

presence.  But  now  that  at  least  did  not 
matter  so  much.  No,  a  strange  thing  had 
happened  in  regard  to  her  feeling  for  Mrs. 
Child.  Lot  had  lost  her  fear,  and  with 
her  fear  had  gone  some  of  her  hatred.  She 
had  lost  her  fear  in  one  single  minute. 
That  was  the  minute  when  she  learned  that 
Mrs.  Child  had  told  her  history  to  Mr. 
Bravery.  She  resented  Mrs.  Child's  broken 
pledge :  perhaps  she  still  hated  her  for 
that ;  but  instead  of  fearing  her  now  she 
slightly  despised  her.  And  if  she  still 
hated,  it  was  a  more  mild  and  reasonable 
emotion:  it  was  not  the  strange,  dominating 
hatred  that  had  fear  for  its  bones  and 
sinews. 

The  day  came  when  Memory  Cottage  was 
ready  for  its  owner,  if  he  should  choose  to 
go  to  it.  Its  simple  furniture  was  disposed 
in  it,  and  Mr.  Bravery  came  back  to 
Wiggonholt  one  evening  after  having  spent 
all  day  at  the  cottage,  arranging  there  the 
books  and  pictures  which  he  had  caused  to 
be  sent  on  to  him  from  his  last  dwelling- 
place. 

He  arrived  back  at  the  farm  shortly  be- 
fore his  dinner-hour,  and  sank  into  the  arm- 
chair in  his  room,  tired  but  peaceful.  Yes, 
his  new  possession  increased  his  inward 
peace,  which  was  as  much  of  joy  as  he  could 

159 


LOT  BARROW 

feel,  or  as  much  as  he  would  care  to  acknow- 
ledge. He  was  aware,  in  a  half-amused, 
half -regretful  way  that  his  going  was  looked 
upon  by  Mrs.  Child  as  a  disaster.  He  was 
even  a  little  shamefaced  before  her,  but 
not  sufficiently  so  to  disturb  the  calm  glow 
within  him.  And  as  far  as  leaving  Lot  was 
concerned,  he  was  neither  pleased  nor  sad. 
Because  he  should  see  her  frequently — 
and  he  did  wish  to  see  frequently  the  girl 
whom  he  had  been  able  to  help  to  the  right 
view  of  things,  the  only  one,  out  of  a  whole 
world  which  he  had  hoped  to  help,  who  had 
responded  and  understood.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  move  gave  him  an  added  sense 
of  security  in  his  belief  that  Lot  had  no 
claim  on  him  but  as  her  helper  and  friend. 

Now  Lot  brought  light  into  the  room, 
and  set  the  table  for  his  meal,  making  a 
little  talk  with  him  as  she  did  so.  Next, 
Mrs.  Child  carried  the  meat  into  the  room, 
and  Lot  went  away  and  came  back  with 
the  vegetables.  It  was  as  it  had  been  so 
many  a  time  before.  But  now  it  was  with 
a  kind  of  shamed  consciousness  that  Mr. 
Bravery  recognised  his  favourite  dish.  It 
ate  like  a  reproach — a  very  palatable  one — 
for  his  coming  departure. 

"  Well,  this  is  very  good,"  he  said,  as 
Mrs.  Child  hovered  round  the  table. 

160 


THROUGH  FIELDS 

"  How  you  will  miss  your  food,  sir !  " 
she  said. 

"  Ah.  Not  so  much  as  you  think, 
perhaps."  Mrs.  Child  took  that  from  him 
mildly,  because  she  would  take  anything 
from  him.  "  I  mean,"  he  said,  smiling, 
"  that  you  will  often  find  me  hanging  round 
here,  begging  for  a  meal."  Mrs.  Child's 
face  brightened  wonderfully — but  how  she 
wished  that  he  need  not  go  at  all ! 

"  Still,  who's  to  do  for  you  when  you 
are  up  there  ?  "  she  said.  "  There's  that 
to  be  thought  of." 

"  Yes,  I  know ;  that's  dreadful,"  said 
Mr.  Bravery,  who  was  eating  his  dinner. 
("Do  cut  me  some  bread,  will  you,  Lot  ?  " 
he  said.)  "  Are  you  going  to  help  me  to 
find  some  one,  Mrs.  Child  ?  " 

She  considered.  She  wanted  to  lose 
touch  with  him  as  little  as  possible.  It 
gave  her  a  pang  of  jealousy  to  think  of  his 
being  ministered  to  by  one  of  the  village 
women — many  of  whom,  no  doubt,  would 
be  only  too  glad  to  serve  him. 

"  I  could  spare  Lot  for  an  hour  or  two  in 
the  day,"  she  said.  "  We  shan't  be  so 
busy  here  as  the  winter  comes  on." 

Lot  opened  her  mouth  to  say  :  "  Oh,  yes, 
please,  please  let  me  !  "  But  though  she 
was  no  longer  afraid  of  Mrs.  Child,  she  had 

161  M 


LOT  BARROW 

maintained  a  diplomatic  instinct  of  ex- 
pediency in  regard  to  her,  and  she  realised 
just  in  time  that  such  an  ardent  petition 
was  not  likely  to  advance  her  cause. 

But  Mr.  Bravery  was  shocked  at  the 
suggestion. 

"  Lot !  Walk  all  that  way  every  day, 
there  and  back,  when  the  weather  will  be 
bad !  " 

Lot  longed  to  exclaim  at  such  stupid, 
mistaken  kindness  from  him,  but  again 
she  had  the  genius  to  be  silent.  She  sent 
Mr.  Bravery  a  most  reproachful  look, 
however. 

He  understood.  He  saw  in  a  moment 
how  she  would  love  the  escape  from  Mrs. 
Child,  and  from  the  daily  routine  of  the 
farm.  And  no  doubt  she  felt  it  would  be 
pleasant  to  see  her  helper  every  day — just 
as  he  felt  it  would  be  pleasant  to  see  her. 

"  Oh,  she's  strong  enough,"  said  Mrs. 
Child,  weighing  it.  "  Lot's  not  afraid  of 
the  weather,  not  that  I'm  aware  of." 

"  Of  course,  it  would  be  a  very  fine  thing 
in  one  way,"  said  Mr.  Bravery  (and  he  knew 
this  would  clinch  the  matter),  "  for  if  Lot 
came  she  could  carry  me  some  food  in  a 
little  basket,  and — well,  Mrs.  Child,  you 
know  you  have  spoilt  me  for  the  cooking 
of  the  rest  of  your  sex."  He  thought  it 

162 


THROUGH  FIELDS 

was  due  to  Lot  that,  after  having  been  so 
stupid,  he  should  be  a  little  cunning  to 
accomplish  what  she  wished. 

"  Yes,  and  she  could  do  the  work  ac- 
cording to  how  I've  learnt  her,"  said  Mrs. 
Child.  "  God  knows  what  a  state  those 
other  women  mightn't  leave  it  in." 

And  so  that  was  arranged,  and  Lot  was 
deeply  happy. 

After  that,  Mr.  Bravery  spent  only  two 
more  days  at  the  farm.  They  were  days 
made  pleasant  by  the  news  from  his 
publishers  that  his  new  essays  were  accept- 
able. The  book  was  to  be  published  with- 
out delay,  for  this  autumn  season.  And 
Mr.  Bravery  had  not  to  pay  a  farthing  :  on 
the  contrary.  He  found  it  singularly  grati- 
fying— in  fact,  if  not  in  theory — to  be  the 
creator  of  something  for  which  the  world 
was  willing  to  give  a  price.  It  was  much 
nicer  than  paying  for  the  privilege  of 
authorship. 

Every  day  Lot  left  the  farm  at  ten  o'clock. 
She  started  in  a  state  of  suppressed  excite- 
ment which  made  it  difficult  to  walk  soberly 
along  when  she  might  take  swift  flight. 
But  she  did  walk  —  she  knew  that  her 
tireless  running  was  considered  eccentric  ; 
and,  besides,  she  always  had  a  little  burden 

163 


LOT  BARROW 

of  food  in  a  basket.  Sometimes  the  nature 
of  the  basket's  contents  demanded  that  it 
should  be  carried  with  extreme  steadiness, 
a  fact  which  Mrs.  Child  took  care  to 
emphasise.  Mrs.  Child  did  not  know  how 
unwillingly  Lot  would  spill  a  drop  of  Mr. 
Bravery's  precious  dinner,  and  tried  to 
drive  the  moral  home  in  the  most  graphic 
and  telling  way. 

"  Supposing  that  was  a  jar  of  ink,  wrapped 
up  in  your  new  dress,"  she  would  say ; 
"  you'd  carry  that  steady  enough  then." 
And  there  were  other  forms  of  argument, 
equally  persuasive,  all  unnecessary. 

Lot  went  some  little  way  along  the  road 
and  then  turned  into  a  certain  field.  The 
gate  of  the  field  was  kept  locked,  and  she 
always  had  to  climb.  She  crossed  diagon- 
ally three  fields,  and  then  came  to  the  little 
river,  which  felt  its  way  with  great  uncer- 
tainty low  through  other  fields.  It  was 
the  little  thread  of  life  in  the  wide  plain, 
the  brain  of  that  valley  if  the  stars  are  the 
brain  of  heaven.  Its  course  was  very 
wayward  ;  but  it  did  stop  short  of  actually 
turning  back  on  itself — or  Lot  would  have 
been  even  more  impatient  than  she  was. 
She  walked  close  by  the  high  edge  of  the 
deeply  sunk  little  river ;  the  wind  often 
blew  coldly  down  the  unsheltered  valley. 

164 


THROUGH  FIELDS 

The  bare  banks  overhung  the  river,  as 
they  do  in  a  certain  Rembrandt  drawing  ; 
but  it  was  possible  to  walk  very  close  to 
the  edge  without  danger  of  the  earth 
breaking  underneath.  For  that  earth  was 
closely  bound  by  root  and  fibre,  as  could 
be  seen  on  the  bare  side  of  the  bank  where 
it  shelved  inwards  to  the  water.  On  the 
surface  where  Lot  walked  there  were  short 
grass,  and  dandelions,  and  other  weeds  ; 
but  on  the  bare,  shelving  sides  there  was 
only  a  multitude  of  fibres,  peering  out  from 
their  damp,  earthy  bed. 

By  and  by,  she  came  to  a  rough  little 
weir,  and  here  she  had  to  climb  again, 
because  its  designer  had  not  considered 
traffic  ;  and  so  she  had  to  mount  on  to  an 
iron  plank,  part  of  the  machinery  of  the 
weir,  and  balance  herself  across.  Then 
she  crossed  two  more  fields,  up-hill  fields 
and  large  ones,  and  the  little  white  house 
was  in  sight. 

Generally  Mr.  Bravery  was  indoors  at 
work.  One  day  the  house  was  empty, 
and  Lot  was  fearful  to  think  that  he  might 
not  come  back  before  she  had  to  leave.  In 
the  passage  near  the  door  there  was  a  chair, 
and  when  Lot  had  discovered  the  house  to 
be  empty,  she  sat  down  upon  this  chair, 
too  unhappy  to  set  about  her  work.  She 

165 


LOT  BARROW 

loved  every  inch  of  the  little  house  which 
she  kept  nice  for  him  ;  and  as  she  sat  there, 
with  her  coat  and  hat  still  on,  her  eyes 
wandered  over  the  stairs,  which  she  ought 
to  be  sweeping,  and  to  some  mud  on  the 
passage-floor ;  and  through  the  open  door 
of  the  sitting-room  she  saw  the  remains 
of  Mr.  Bravery's  breakfast.  But  she  had 
no  heart  to  touch  a  thing.  It  would  be 
most  bitter  to  her  if  Mr.  Bravery  should  not 
come  back.  She  foresaw  how  all  the 
excitement  and  pleasure  of  her  daily  journey 
to  him  would  be  banished  and  replaced 
by  a  miserable  suspense  if  she  could  never 
be  certain  of  finding  him.  How  intolerable 
it  would  be  to  wind  along  that  delaying 
river,  if  she  were  in  ignorance  as  to  whether 
she  should  see  Mr.  Bravery  or  not  at  the 
end. 

But  as  she  sat  in  her  gloom  she  heard 
Mr.  Bravery  stamp  his  feet  outside.  In  a 
moment  she  was  up,  and  had  opened  the 
door,  and  stood  there  smiling  at  him. 

"  Wherever  have  you  been,  sir  ?  " 

"  Good  morning,  Lot.  Oh,  just  tramp- 
ing round." 

"  Now  I  must  hurry  on  with  my  work," 
said  Lot,  bustling  in,  and  longing  to  make 
everything  especially  nice  for  him  to-day, 
because  she  was  so  glad  to  see  him. 

166 


THROUGH  FIELDS 

She  sang  a  little  tune  as  she  took  off  her 
things  in  the  kitchen.  The  song  was  one 
she  used  to  hear  a  boy  sing  on  the  farm 
where  she  used  to  live  ;  and  she  sang  it, 
like  him,  in  the  rich  county-dialect : 

"  Can  you  tell  me 
If  any  there  be 
Who  will  give  me  employ, 
For  to  plough  and  to  sow 
And  to  reap  and  to  mow, 
And  to  be  a  farmer's  boy." 

She  went  and  looked  in  Mr.  Bravery's 
teapot  for  tea-leaves  ;  she  put  her  hand  in 
the  brown  pot  and  scraped  the  dark,  wet 
things  together,  but  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  there  were  not  enough  to  lay  the  dust 
on  the  stairs.  She  then  went  out  into  the 
field  and  ran  across  it  to  a  grassy  meadow, 
and  gathered  handfuls  of  grass  into  her 
apron,  with  her  air  of  dignified  industry. 
The  grass  still  glistened  with  the  early- 
morning  raindrops.  Lot  came  back  to  the 
kitchen,  always  with  her  slightly  detached 
yet  efficient  air,  and  put  the  grass  on  a 
board  and  chopped  it  until  it  was  reduced 
to  a  size  that  made  it  a  pretty  good  sub- 
stitute for  tea-leaves. 

When  her  sweeping  was  done  she  laid 
the  fire  in  the  sitting-room.  Mr.  Bravery 

167 


LOT  BARROW 

was  sitting  there,  busy  with  his  last  batch 
of  proofs.  She  did  not  speak  to  him  when 
he  was  busy,  but  now  he  looked  up  and 
watched  her. 

"  Don't  light  it,  Lot." 

"  No,  sir ;  I'm  just  leaving  it  ready. 
You  will  put  a  match  to  it  as  the  evening 
comes  on,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  I  daresay.     Oh,  yes,  certainly." 

"  Now  mind  you  do.  Because  you  see 
I  shall  notice  in  the  morning." 

"  Oh,  well,  of  course  if  this  is  going  to  be 

a  kind  of  tyranny "  said  Mr.  Bravery, 

smiling. 

Lot  smiled  back.  "Do  I  make  it  all 
lovely  and  comfortable  for  you,  sir  ?  " 

"  You  do,  indeed.  Perfectly  comfort- 
able." 

"  Mrs.  Child  always  says  to  me  when  I'm 
starting :  '  Now,  Lot,  don't  go  idling 
because  I'm  not  there  to  see  you.'  Or : 
'  Mind  you  don't  forget  to  fill  the  lamp.' 
Or :  'Be  sure  and  put  his  boots  where 
they'll  dry  without  burning.'  She  thinks 
I  wouldn't  do  anything  if  she  didn't  tell 
me." 

"  Well,  Lot,  we  must  give  a  house- 
warming  for  Mrs.  Child." 

"  Yes,"  said  Lot,  rather  dully.  She  had 
no  wish  to  have  Mrs.  Child  here. 

168 


THROUGH  FIELDS 

Mr.  Bravery  perceived  that  the  point  was 
not  taken  up  with  enthusiasm,  and  said  : 

"  Perhaps  that  can  wait  until  Miss  Marsy 
comes." 

A  certain  suggestion  Mr.  Bravery  had 
once  made  to  Lot  had  been  on  the  con- 
dition of  her  being  unhappy.  He  had 
long  ceased  to  have  any  real  apprehension 
about  the  fulfilling  of  that  mad  suggestion  ; 
but  still,  it  pleased  him  wonderfully  to  see 
her  happy,  and  he  wanted  to  keep  her  so. 


169 


CHAPTER  TWENTY:  LOT'S  SHOES 

MR.  BRAVERY  was  at  Wiggonholt, 
and   stood   at  the  bottom  of   the 
stairs,  calling  out  to  Marjorie  with  a  little 
impatience. 

"  Come  along,  Marjorie ;  or  we  shall 
have  to  go  in  the  dark." 

She  soon  came  downstairs,  not  hurrying, 
because  she  rather  enjoyed  his  impatience, 
and  dark  was  still  a  long  way  off  really, 
— but  smiling  an  apology  for  the  delay. 

"  If  you  were  made  to  put  on  all  the 
gaiters  and  gloves  that  I  am  made  to  put 
on,  you  would  be  late,"  she  said. 

They  set  out  for  their  walk.  The  last 
two  days  had  been  so  still  that  the  leaves 
had  been  able  quietly  to  yellow  and  weaken 
on  the  trees.  But  to-day  the  south-west 
wind  blew  just  strongly  enough  to  waft 
them  loose  where  they  were  weak  in  the 
stem,  and  rain  them  gently  to  the  ground. 
Mr.  Bravery  took  in  the  weather  and  the 
aspect  of  earth  and  sky  with  a  favourable 
glance.  He  evidently  considered  these 
things  in  relation  to  the  comfort  of  his 
companion. 

170 


LOT'S  SHOES 

"  Now  this  is  just  the  kind  of  day  on 
which  I  want  to  get  you  out  for  walks," 
he  said,  turning  to  look  at  her  delicate 
face.  "  No  shirking,  Marjorie.  A  good 
walk  with  me  on  all  the  mild,  dry  days." 

"  Yes,"  said  Marjorie.  "  I  do  love  the 
autumn  days  when  they  are  mild.  They 
are  like  someone  who  might  be  unkind  to 
you  and  is  kind." 

They  walked  through  the  village.  They 
were  good  and  easy  companions,  enjoying 
speech,  and  not  afraid  of  silence. 

"  Say  good  afternoon  to  Mr.  Hicks,  the 
baker,  as  you  pass,"  prompted  Mr.  Bravery. 
"  He  is  standing  at  his  door ;  you  eat  his 
bread." 

"  Hicks  a  baker  !  How  very  odd  !  " 
said  Marjorie,  and  did  her  duty. 

"  Why  is  it  odd  that  Mr.  Hicks  should 
make  bread  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Bravery  when 
they  had  passed. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  Because  Hicks  is 
so  essentially  a  butcher's  name,  I  suppose." 

Mr.  Bravery  told  her  how  silly  he  thought 
her,  which  pleased  Marjorie. 

"  Is  anyone  ever  unkind  to  you  ?  "  he 
asked  after  a  pause. 

"  No,  indeed.  I  have  nothing  to  com- 
plain of.  Only  you  were  once,"  she  added, 
remembering. 

171 


'  What  did  I  do  ?  " 

"  You  read  me  something  that  I  hated." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  thought  you  hated  it.  It  has 
been  lying  in  the  back  of  my  mind  ever 
since — how  much  you  hated  that." 

"Well,  it  can't  be  helped.  And  I  need  never 
listen  again,  I  suppose,"  sighed  Marjorie. 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Bravery  with  feeling ; 
*'  you  need  never  listen  again.  Why  should 
I  pain  you  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  you  never  did  what  I  sug- 
gested ?  I  suppose  you  never  wrote  about 
the  country  things  ?  ': 

"Oh,  dear  me, yes  I  did,"  said  Mr.  Bravery. 
He  told  her  about  the  book,  of  which  he 
was  expecting  every  day  to  see  a  copy. 
She  was  so  genuinely  pleased  and  excited 
that  he  was  kindled  to  more  pleasure  than 
he  had  known  for  years. 

They  passed  a  road-side  gate  leading 
into  a  field,  where  a  flock  of  sheep  were 
grazing.  One  of  the  sheep  had  a  very 
human-sounding  cough.  They  stopped  at 
the  gate,  and  distinguished  the  invalid 
from  among  the  passive  flock  by  the  spas- 
modic ducking  of  its  head.  It  coughed 
unceasingly,  as  they  stood  there. 

"Is  it  in  pain  ?  "  asked  Marjorie. 

"  No,"  Mr.  Bravery  replied.  Then, 
looking  over  the  hills  to  the  distant  downs, 

172 


LOT'S  SHOES 

he  said :  "I  wish  I  could  understand  how 
my  saying  *  No  '  gives  you  any  conceivable 
relief." 

Marjorie  also  looked  straight  in  front  of 
her.  There  came  on  her  face  an  eagerly 
defensive  look,  and  yet  at  the  same  time 
she  was  mystified  and  fearful.  Her  faith 
did  not  depend  on  her  ability  to  express  it. 
And  she  realised  with  dismay  how  little 
she  had  to  say.  She  believed  him  to  be 
very,  very  deep,  and  she  knew  she  could 
only  be  very  simple. 

"  I  am  glad  when  things  don't  suffer," 
she  said. 

"  Oh.  So  long  as  you  realise  how  fiend- 
ishly they  do  suffer — "  said  Mr.  Bravery, 
with  a  kind  of  cruel  smile. 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  said  Marjorie,  excitedly 
(and  he  was  so  calm). 

"  I  mean  the  essential  cruelty  of  the 
whole  scheme,"  said  Mr.  Bravery,  still 
with  his  strange  smile.  "  The  preying 
and  the  torture  and  the  warfare — daily 
sights,  that  you  may  see  in  any  field  or  in 
any  hedge." 

"  Of  course  I  know  all  that.  Last  night 
I  heard  a  fly  in  a  web  somewhere  up  in  the 
rafters.  Did  you  hear  it — just  before  we  went 
to  bed  ?  I  thought  it  would  never  stop." 
Mr.  Bravery  nodded  that  he  had  heard, 

173 


LOT  BARROW 

"  Have  you  ever  properly  realised  that 
to  be  the  scheme  of  Nature  ?  Can  you  be 
blind  to  that  ?  Recognise  fully  that  that 
is  the  scheme,  and  you  will  not  suffer  so 
much  to  see  an  example  of  it  before  your 
eyes — or  rejoice  if  it  chances  that  some- 
thing does  not  suffer." 

"  I  shall  do  both  those  things  as  long  as 
I  live,"  said  Marjorie. 

"  Then  you  are  defiant.  You  do  not 
accept  the  scheme." 

"  Yes,  I  do.  I  accept  that  men  and 
beasts  must  suffer.  And  I  grieve  for  it. 
Raymond,"  she  said,  turning  to  him  in 
helpless  appeal,  "  that  is  surely  what  I 
was  meant  to  do." 

"  I  can't  say,  I  can't  say,"  said  Mr. 
Bravery.  They  were  both  honest,  and 
meant  passionately  well  by  each  other,  as 
they  continued  to  look  out  on  that  serene, 
grey  landscape  ;  but  they  were  baffled  and 
made  unhappy  by  their  difficulties. 

"  Will  you  come  with  us  when  we  go  to 
see  the  villagers  ?  "  Marjorie  asked  on  a 
sudden,  faint  impulse.  "  Now  that  I  feel 
stronger  I  want  to  go."  Mr.  Bravery 
pledged  himself. 

It  happened  often  now  that  Lot  worked 
in  miserable  solitude  at  Memory  Cottage, 

174 


LOT'S  SHOES 

for  Mr.  Bravery  spent  most  of  his  time  at 
the  farm,  or  out  walking  or  driving  with 
Miss  Marsy  or  Marjorie.  On  one  occasion 
she  met  him  on  her  way  up  to  the  cottage, 
and  her  heart  was  very  sad,  and  her  eyes 
full  of  tears,  as  she  passed  listlessly  on  her 
journey.  But  most  often  he  arrived  at 
the  farm  before  she  started  out,  and  she 
went  off  in  a  kind  of  despair,  which  dissolved 
to  milder  sadness  only  when  she  reached 
the  cottage  and  worked  for  him,  and  touched 
the  things  he  had  lately  used. 

Miss  Marsy  had  hired  from  Lewington 
a  horse  and  trap,  for  which  Mr.  Child  had 
found  room  in  his  stables,  and  Mr.  Bravery 
and  Miss  Marsy  and  Marjorie  drove  about 
the  perfect  country  in  grand  autumnal 
weather.  According  to  Marjorie's  plan, 
they  also  visited  the  poorer  of  the  village 
people,  and  relieved  necessity. 

Mr.  Bravery's  book  arrived,  and  was  read 
aloud  by  him  in  the  evenings — a  perform- 
ance attended  only  by  the  happiest  results 
now.  One  day,  before  he  had  got  to  the 
end,  a  notice  of  the  book  appeared  in  the 
paper  which  came  to  the  farm  at  breakfast- 
time.  It  was  a  most  appreciative  review, 
and  when  Mr.  Bravery  arrived  later  at 
Wiggonholt  Marjorie  put  it  into  his  hand. 
As  Mr.  Bravery  read  it,  with  Marjorie 

175 


LOT  BARROW 

standing  by  him,  he  had  a  curious  sensation 
of  the  unreality  of  past  years,  and  the 
vitality  of  present  happiness. 

In  the  evenings  Lot  would  hear  the  dis- 
tant murmur  of  his  voice  as  he  read  aloud, 
and  she  longed  that  he  should  be  speaking 
for  her  ears.  She  was  growing  sick  at  heart 
because  of  the  long  postponement  of  all 
her  hopes.  One  night  when  she  went  up  to 
bed  in  anticipation  of  a  particularly  early 
rising  to-morrow,  the  reading  was  still 
going  on  in  the  sitting-room  behind  the 
closed  door,  and  she  paused  on  each  stair, 
reluctant  to  go  quite  out  of  reach  of  the 
intonations  of  his  voice.  That  afternoon 
she  had  bought  in  the  village  a  pair  of 
new  shoes,  and  these  she  carried  up  in  one 
hand,  and  her  candle  and  clock  in  the 
other. 

When  she  had  got  to  her  room  and  had 
unburdened  herself,  she  sat  down  on  the 
edge  of  the  bed  and  took  up  the  shoes 
again,  and  examined  them  abstractedly. 
The  very  moment  she  had  first  seen  them 
in  the  shop  she  had  known  them  to  be 
lovely  shoes,  having  a  distinct  superiority 
of  style  over  any  shoes  she  had  ever 
possessed.  All  the  way  home  from  the 
shop  she  had  been  excited  about  them. 
Now  she  viewed  their  charms  almost  coldly, 

176 


LOT'S  SHOES 

warming  only  gradually  to  their  irresistible 
attraction.  She  turned  them  over  and 
looked  at  the  soles.  The  soles  were  light 
and  shining,  without  so  much  as  a  scratch 
on  them.  How  speedily  they  would  be 
dark  and  grained  and  dusty ! — half  an 
hour's  wear  to-morrow  would  do  that  for 
them. 

She  stroked  the  shiny  soles,  and  rubbed 
them  against  her  cheek,  and  thought  of 
their  defacement.  Then  suddenty  she  re- 
solved to  write  a  beloved  name  upon  them 
while  they  were  still  pretty  and  clean. 
She  got  a  pencil  from  her  pocket,  and 
wrote  RAYMOND,  and  underneath  she  wrote 
LOT  ;  and  this  was  done  on  each  shoe. 
Having  accomplished  this  slow,  careful 
task,  she  was  somehow  much  happier,  and 
went  to  bed. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-ONE: 
DISSOCIATION 

LOT  was  alone  in  the  kitchen,  and  heard 
a  knock  at  the  door  which  led  in 
from  the  yard.  She  opened  it,  and  a 
man  was  standing  there  to  whom  she 
spoke,  and  then  she  went  in  search  of  Mrs. 
Child. 

She  found  Mrs.  Child  in  the  dairy. 

"  Mr.  Henefer's  here,  and  wants  to 
speak  to  you.  His  wife's  bad."  They 
went  back  to  the  kitchen  together. 

He  was  standing  near  the  door,  methodi- 
cally twisting  his  hat  round  between  his  two 
hands.  He  turned  his  uneasy  face  towards 
Mrs.  Child,  with  a  petition  in  it. 

"  The  fact  is,"  he  explained,  "I've  just 
had  a  further  increase  of  family.  I  can't 
speak  too  plain "  He  nodded  at  Lot. 

"  And  all's  not  well  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Child, 
with  her  quick  sympathy  for  illness. 

"  Dr.  Lund  do  think  she's  dying.  He's 
sent  to  Lewington  for  Dr.  Brassey."  He 
spoke  in  a  curiously  businesslike  tone, 
which  was  somehow  hard  to  hear  unmoved. 
Lot  wished  he  would  give  way  and  cry. 

178 


DISSOCIATION 

They  were  both  now  unaware  of  Lot. 
They  looked  at  each  other  with  simple 
understanding,  while  Mrs.  Child  said  :  "  I'll 
get  on  my  things  and  come.  Humphrey'll 
help  me  round."  There  could  not  in  the 
world  be  more  natural  and  simple  inter- 
course than  this — when  people  who  at 
the  best  of  times  have  no  artifice  in  their 
talk,  are  dealing  with  life  and  death.  There 
is  not  even  the  memory  of  artifice  to  shame 
them  when  their  eyes  meet  over  their  grief 
— as  there  is  with  those  who  habitually 
adorn  their  talk  with  self-consciousness. 

Mr.  Child  came  in  with  some  lately-dead 
birds,  and  dropped  them  heavily  on  the 
table  outside  the  kitchen. 

"  Mrs.  Henefer's  bad  with  the  new  baby," 
said  Mrs.  Child.  "I'm  going  up  there." 

"  Well,  my  girl,  you  know  what  to  take 
with  you.  You  know  to  take  a  bottle  o' 
Carson's." 

"  What,  with  the  doctors  there  and  all  ?  " 
asked  Mrs.  Child. 

"  Oh  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Child  in  cold  surprise. 
"  Was  there  no  doctors  there  when  I  gave 
you  some  of  that  Carson's  when  you  was 
bad  with  Humphrey  ?  And  did  it  save 
your  life,  or  didn't  it  ?  " 

"  Fetch  the  bottle,  Humphrey,"  said 
Mrs.  Child.  "  You  know  where  it  stands." 

179 


LOT  BARROW 

She  felt  she  had  been  deservedly  rebuked, 
and  looked  humbly  at  her  husband. 

Lot  was  soon  left  alone  in  the  darkening 
kitchen.  She  felt  a  vague,  uneasy  excite- 
ment at  the  trouble,  which  needed  an 
outlet.  Miss  Marsy  and  Marjorie  were  not 
at  home  ;  they  had  been  taking  tea  with 
the  vicar's  wife,  and  had  not  yet  returned. 
But  Mr.  Bravery  was  at  the  farm  ;  he  was 
in  the  sitting-room,  having  elected  to  let 
the  tea-party  preserve  its  femininity  un- 
spoiled. So  Lot  went  and  knocked  at  the 
door,  and  then  looked  into  the  room. 

"  Mr.  Henefer's  just  been  round.  They 
say  his  wife's  dying." 

Mr.  Bravery  had  been  looking  out  of  the 
window.  It  was  the  hour  just  after  sunset, 
and  his  window  showed  him  the  east, 
where  the  flat  fields  and  the  hills  and  the 
sky  were  growing  very  grey  and  quiet. 

He  did  not  speak.  He  remembered 
seeing  that  couple  called  Henefer  in  their 
home  not  very  long  ago,  when  he  had 
accompanied  Marjorie  on  one  of  her  visits. 
Marjorie  had  been  enthusiastic  in  her  quiet 
way  over  that  family.  "  You  can  see 
there  is  love  in  that  home,"  he  remembered 
Marjorie  saying,  in  a  warm  voice. 

He  did  not  speak,  and  Lot  fancied  she 
knew  his  thought. 

180 


DISSOCIATION 

"  Yes,  of  course  they'll  all  think  it  so 
dreadful  if  she  dies,"  she  said.  "  Isn't  it 
a  pity  they  can't  see  things  straighter,  sir  ?  " 
She  thought  to  ingratiate  herself,  as  weak 
women  do,  by  giving  a  man  back  his  own 
views. 

He  turned  round  from  the  window  now, 
and  sank  heavily  on  to  a  chair.  His  arms 
were  on  the  table,  and  he  bent  his  head 
and  sighed. 

"  A  husband  losing  a  wife,  Lot,"  he  said 
slowly,  as  if  he  were  suggesting  something 
to  her. 

She  was  at  a  loss,  and  so  she  drew  slowly 
nearer  to  him.  The  only  thing  she  longed 
for  in  this  world  was  his  approval.  At 
first  she  just  took  hold  of  the  dark  blue 
hairy  table  cloth  close  to  him,  but  soon  she 
moved  the  hand  on  to  his  stooping  shoulder, 
and  bent  her  head  low  over  his  in  the  dusk. 

"  /  don't  trouble  about  them,"  she  said, 
in  a  wheedling  voice.  "  I  don't  mind 
whether  she  lives  or  dies.  Of  course  you 
can't  get  everyone  to  see  it  like  that." 

He  got  up  slowly  and  gloomily  and  moved 
a  little  way  away  from  her.  She  felt 
terrified  lest  something  was  wrong  between 
them,  but  did  not  know  what  that  could  be. 
The  only  thought  smiting  her  brain  was  the 
dreadful  suspicion  that  he  had  got  up 

181 


LOT  BARROW 

because  he  wanted  not  to  feel  the  touch  of 
her  hand  upon  him. 

"Mr.  Bravery,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  thrilling 
voice,  which  made  him  look  at  her  even 
though  he  could  not  see  her  face  clearly, 
"  were  you  cross  with  me  because  my 
hand —  "  ;  she  broke  into  a  sob. 

"  Lot,  Lot"  he  remonstrated,  shocked 
at  her  grief,  and  uneasy  in  his  conscience 
because  she  had  guessed  right.  There  was 
a  sound  of  someone  turning  the  handle  of 
the  front  door  ;  it  was  locked  and  did  not 
open  ;  then  the  bell  was  rung. 

The  two  in  the  room  had  stood  motionless 
during  those  sounds,  with  their  eyes  fixed 
on  the  door.  When  it  was  quiet  after  the 
ringing  they  could  look  towards  each  other 
again,  but  only  for  a  minute,  because  Lot 
must  go  to  the  door. 

He  took  her  hand,  because  her  dejected 
figure  looked  the  picture  of  grief.  He 
carried  the  hand  to  his  shoulder,  as  a  kind 
of  restitution,  and  laid  it  there,  and  stroked 
it  nervously  and  heavily.  It  made  him 
feel  very  humble — her  having  guessed  that 
for  some  indistinct  reason  he  had  spurned 
her  hand.  Lot's  face  was  raised  slowly  ; 
she  thought  he  must  feel,  if  he  could  not  see, 
the  infinite  tenderness  that  shone  out  of 
her  face,  like  a  warmth.  He  put  down  the 

182 


DISSOCIATION 

hand,  and  she  went  to  the  door  to  admit 
Miss  Marsy  and  Marjorie. 

They  knew  about  the  danger,  and  were 
silent  and  depressed.  Lot  went  back  into 
the  kitchen,  and  lit  the  lamp.  Humphrey 
was  sitting  there,  waiting  for  his  tea,  and 
Lot  squeaked  about  in  her  new  shoes  to 
get  it  for  him.  It  was  no  use  to  wait  for 
Mrs.  Child's  uncertain  return.  And  it  was 
dangerous  to  let  Humphrey  get  hungry 
beyond  a  certain  limit. 

She  put  the  meal  before  him,  and  sat 
down  to  look  at  the  paper. 

"  I  can't  drink  this,"  said  Humphrey 
gloomily  ;  "it's  too  strong." 

Lot's  mind  had  been  running  tempes- 
tuously on  her  interview  with  Mr.  Bravery  ; 
she  was  not  at  all  absorbed  in  her  paper, 
so  she  put  it  down  readily  to  weaken 
the  tea. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Humphrey,  in  his 
grim,  unhappy  pride,  and  went  on  with  his 
meal  in  silence.  It  was  in  silence  that  they 
now  invariably  passed  any  time  they  had 
together. 

Lot  sat  down  again  and  put  one  foot  up 
on  her  knee,  and  for  the  tenth  time  to-day 
examined  the  sole  of  her  shoe.  Now  at 
last  Raymond  and  Lot  were  no  more  to  be 
seen  ;  there  was  not  the  faintest  pencil- 

183 


LOT  BARROW 

mark.  She  had  watched  the  process  of 
their  defacement  with  a  sense  of  pleasure 
in  her  little  secret.  To  the  outsider  this 
was  only  an  ordinary,  if  becoming,  pair  of 
shoes ;  but  they  would  never  be  quite 
ordinary  shoes  to  Lot — no,  not  even  after 
the  third  time  of  mending ;  they  were 
dedicated. 

Mrs.  Child  was  home  in  time  to  prepare 
a  rather  belated  meal  for  the  sitting-room. 
She  reported  that  Mrs.  Henefer  was  lying 
like  a  mask.  Indeed,  there  did  not  seem 
to  be  much  hope  of  her  recovery. 

That  night  as  Lot  was  going  to  bed  she 
came  upon  Marjorie  and  Mr.  Bravery  in 
the  passage.  Mr.  Bravery  was  about  to 
set  out  for  his  cottage.  Marjorie  was 
always  a  kind  friend  to  Lot,  and  stopped 
her  now  to  talk  a  little.  She  looked  at 
the  clock  under  Lot's  arm. 

"  What  time  will  that  say  when  you 
get  up,  Lot  ?  " 

"  Six  o'clock,  miss.  I  always  must  have 
my  eight  hours  if  I  can  get  it." 

"  Six  o'clock,  and  I  will  be  asleep.  I 
suppose  there  is  reason  and  logic  in  that, 
but  it  is  hidden  from  me.  Raymond, 
explain  why  Lot  must  get  up  at  six,  and  I 
can  sleep." 

"  I  suppose  you  think  it  is  a  much  finer 

184 


DISSOCIATION 

thing  to  sleep  at  six  than  to  get  up  at  six," 
said  Mr.  Bravery,  smiling. 

"  Well,  yes,  I  suppose  I  was  taking  that 
for  granted,"  she  said.  "  That  is  a  very 
easy  way  out  of  my  difficulty — if  you  can 
prove  that  Lot's  is  the  better  part  after  all. 
Still,"  she  added,  "  I  am  afraid  you  would 
have  to  prove  that  Lot  thinks  so." 

"  Of  course  I'm  a  very  light  sleeper," 
said  Lot,  irrelevantly. 

Marjorie  smiled  at  her,  as  if  she  liked  her 
and  found  her  funny.  And  then  she 
suddenly  grew  grave  and  said  : 

"  Perhaps  we  shall  not  sleep  very  soundly 
to-night.  We  shall  be  thinking  of  that 


woman.'1 


Lot's  dark  eyes  grew  large  with  serious- 
ness and  scorn  as  she  said  on  a  sudden 
inspiration  : 

"  /  don't  see  that  there's  any  such  thing 
as  unhappiness." 

Marjorie's  whole  bearing  changed  as  she 
flushed  and  cast  at  Mr.  Bravery  a  glance 
of  quick,  angry  suspicion.  It  was  more  to 
him  than  to  Lot  that  she  said :  "  Don't 
you  talk  to  me  !  "  stammering  a  little,  and 
almost  incoherent  in  her  anger. 

Lot,  almost  unmoved  by  this,  looked  only 
at  Mr.  Bravery.  But  gradually  her  look 
changed  from  being  a  confident  appeal 

185 


LOT  BARROW 

for  approval  to  a  look  of  wonder  and 
dread,  as  she  saw  Mr.  Bravery  dissociate 
himself  from  her  by  an  involuntary,  cold 
critical  look,  and  then  avert  his  eyes.  She 
turned  and  went  up  to  bed,  her  body  trem- 
bling, and  her  eyes  aching  with  tears. 

That  detached,  critical  look  affected  her 
with  a  deathly  emphasis.  "  Oh  my  God," 
she  thought,  as  she  suffered  perpetually 
recurring  pangs  of  fear,  "  why  did  he  look 
at  me  like  that  ?  I  only  said  what  he 
himself  has  told  me  ;  and  then  he  goes  and 
looks  at  me  like  that  . 


186 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-TWO :  "LOT  THE 
RUNNER" 

MR.  BRAVERY  did  not  know  which 
moved  him  most — Marjorie's  anger 
or  the  contrition  she  had  expressed  after- 
wards. He  thought  her  anger  was  the 
purest  flame  of  indignation  he  had  ever 
known.  And  then  that  she  should  be  such 
a  gentle  creature  as  to  have  to  say  she  was 
sorry  !  For  she  came  to  him  and  regretted 
what  she  called  her  violence. 

"  It  seemed  to  me  that  you  had  done 
something  dreadful,  and  it  cut  me  to  the 
heart,"  she  said.  "  But  I  should  not  have 
been  so  angry." 

"  Don't  apologise  to  me,"  Mr.  Bravery 
replied.  "  I  think  your  goodness  is  the 
most  heavenly  thing  in  the  world." 

"  I  like  you  to  think  me  good,"  Marjorie 
said,  gravely,  "  and — I  do  so  want  to  think 
you  good  !  I  tell  you,  it  cuts  me  to  the 
heart.  It  cannot  be  good  to  tell  that  girl 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  sorrow,  and — oh, 
I  don't  know  half  of  what  you  believe," 
she  said,  with  a  little  renewal  of  impatience. 

"  Yes,    Marjorie.     I   did   tell   her.     But 

187 


LOT  BARROW 

some  time  ago.  Not  since — not  since  I 
understood  you.  And  never  again." 

"  You  make  me  happy  again,"  she  said, 
quietly,  and  turned  away.  Some  instinct 
which  she  could  not  combat  made  her  feel 
more  than  lenient  towards  him. 

It  was  a  splendid  afternoon,  and  they 
had  all  been  hoping  for  fine  weather.  They 
were  going  to  take  Mrs.  Child  for  a  drive, 
and  end  with  tea  at  Memory  Cottage — Mr. 
Bravery's  special  house-warming  tea,  at 
which  Mrs.  Child  was  to  be  the  guest  of 
honour.  Mr.  Bravery  suggested  that  Lot 
should  come,  but  learned  that  it  would  not 
be  convenient  for  her  and  Mrs.  Child  to  be 
absent  from  the  farm  at  the  same  time. 
Mr.  Bravery  did  not  press  the  point,  bearing 
in  mind  that  Lot  was  not  in  the  habit  of 
languishing  to  be  where  Mrs.  Child  was. 

In  the  morning  Mrs.  Child  had  returned 
from  the  Henefers'  cottage,  whither  she 
had  gone  early,  with  a  very  good  account 
of  the  invalid.  She  no  longer  seemed  to  be 
sinking  to  death  ;  and  everyone  was  now 
hopeful  for  her.  Breakfast  was  still  in 
process  in  the  kitchen  when  Mrs.  Child 
came  in  with  these  tidings.  Both  Humphrey 
and  Lot  gave  quiet  expressions  of  satisfaction. 
Mr.  Child  had  a  certain  way  of  sometimes 
compelling  attention  by  his  very  silence  : 

188 


"LOT  THE  RUNNER" 

that  is  what  he  did  now.  He  continued 
to  eat,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  piece  of 
cold  bacon  from  which  he  had  lately  carved, 
and  gradually  drew  to  himself  the  awed  or 
half-unwilling  attention  of  the  others. 
There  was  for  them  nothing  to  do  but  to 
wait,  for  the  silence  was  heavy  with 
meaning,  which  would  sooner  or  later  find 
expression.  It  was  no  earthly  use  trying 
to  pretend  it  was  just  an  ordinary  silence. 
When  the  tension  had  grown  somewhat 
severe,  Mr.  Child  said  : 

"  Did  you  minister  the  Carson's  ?  " 
"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Child.     "  Last  night." 
That  was  all.     Mr.  Child  was  sometimes 
an  artist,   and  he   left  the   matter  there, 
proceeding  solidly  with  his  bacon. 

And  so  early  in  the  afternoon  they  set 
out  on  their  expedition  with  light  hearts. 
Miss  Marsy  was  going  later  direct  to  the 
cottage.  Marjorie  and  Mrs.  Child  sat  in 
the  front  of  the  light  dog-cart ;  Mr.  Bravery 
was  behind.  Marjorie's  seat  was  raised, 
and  she  held  the  reins.  She  looked  almost 
too  fragile  for  her  position,  and  yet  she  was 
a  good  and  capable  driver  ;  and  there  was 
really  no  need  for  Mr.  Bravery  to  be 
thinking,  as  he  sat  there,  of  how  he  would 
throw  himself  in  the  face  of  any  danger 
that  should  threaten  her  ;  and  of  how  readily 

189 


LOT  BARROW 

he  would  brave  death  to  save  her  from 
harm. 

Mrs.  Child  sat  rather  stiffly  in  the  un- 
familiar hat  and  jacket.  But  the  stern 
angle  of  her  back  did  not  begin  to  express 
the  pride  and  pleasure  in  her  heart.  She 
had,  in  common  with  her  great  class,  that 
divine,  selfless  virtue  of  a  little  snobbery  ; 
she  was  tasting  pure  happiness  in  this 
expedition.  Moreover,  they  drove  through 
the  village. 

Later,  they  came  through  quiet  lanes 
to  the  nearest  point  to  the  cottage.  By 
this  way,  they  had  to  climb  only  one  field 
to  reach  Mr.  Bravery's  dwelling-place. 
Lot  sometimes  came  this  way  in  the  morn- 
ing if  she  had  a  particularly  precarious 
burden,  and  wanted  to  avoid  stiles  and 
mounds  and  rough  ground,  or  if  the  rains 
had  been  heavy  :  otherwise  her  usual  way, 
in  spite  of  its  deviations,  was  a  trifle  shorter. 

Now  the  horse  was  tethered  inside  the 
field,  and  the  trap  left  on  the  grassy  road- 
side. Marjorie  had  been  with  her  aunt 
to  Memory  Cottage  before,  but  it  was  Mrs. 
Child's  first  visit.  She  had  Mr.  Bravery's 
arm  up  the  field,  and  she  was  ensconced 
in  the  bright  sitting-room.  In  the  midst 
of  her  expressions  of  appreciation  she  had 
an  eye  keenly  watchful  for  any  signs  of 

190 


"LOT  THE  RUNNER" 

remissness  in  Lot's  house-cleaning  energies. 
Eventually  she  was  bound  to  declare, — when 
she  was  alone  with  Miss  Marsy,  who  soon 
arrived,  and  when  conversation  had  des- 
cended from  its  first  high  pitch  of  enthu- 
siasm,— that  Lot  was  more  thorough  than 
she  had  given  her  credit  for.  Only  she 
pronounced  "  thorough  "  in  an  almost  un- 
spellable  way — something  like  "  ther,"  said 
rather  slowly. 

Miss  Marsy  insisted  that  she  would  watch 
the  kettle,  so  Mr.  Bravery  said  : 

"  Come  along,  Marjorie,  out  into  my 
garden,  if  you  are  not  tired." 

"  Your  garden  is  very  big,"  she  replied. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  ;  "  and  I  have  trees  and 
crops  and  streams.  But  you  need  only 
walk  in  a  little  corner  of  it." 

He  stood  by  the  open  door,  persuading 
her.  And  she  sat  still,  playing  with  the 
wild  hope  in  her  heart. 

"  Then  you  have  a  lot  of  things  in  your 
garden.  But  I  want  flowers." 

"  Well,  I  have  flowers  by  my  stream." 

"  Oh,  but  what  a  long  way  off  !  " 

'  Won't  a  fine  meadow  do,  with  a  little 
wind-blown  hedge  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Marjorie. 

"  Will  it  do  if  I  show  you  a  little  path 
where  a  boy  who  stands  not  much  higher 

191 


LOT  BARROW 

than  my  knee  goes  to  school  every  morning, 
holding  his  sister's  hand,  because  they  are 
both  afraid  of  the  horse  that  grazes  in  the 
field  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  I  could  show  you  just  the  spot  where 
Farmer  Brewster's  horse  came  slowly  down 
upon  them,  and  lowered  his  great  head  to 
their  tiny,  red  faces.  And  they  both 
screamed.  And  the  little  girl,  who  is  the 
bigger  by  two  or  three  inches,  put  her  arms 
round  her  brother,  and  spread  herself  over 
him  to  shield  him,  while  she  screamed." 

The  two  elder  women  were  manoeuvring 
the  kettle  at  the  other  side  of  the  room. 
Marjorie  got  up  slowly. 

"  Was  there  any  one  to  help  them  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"  Yes,  someone  ran  to  help  those  blessed 
children,  and  walks  with  them  every 
morning  now  across  the  field.  Some  one 
who  always  thinks  of  you,  Marjorie,  when 
he  is  with  them,  because  for  him  all  good 
means  you,  and  you  mean  all  good." 

They  were  at  the  door,  and  passed  out. 

They  were  away  for  nearly  half  an  hour ; 
and  those  inside  were  meekly  waiting  their 
return.  The  kettle,  which  had  been  so 
anxiously  watched,  was  now  undeniably 
boiling,  but  to  what  purpose  ?  Miss  Marsy 

192 


"LOT  THE  RUNNER" 

went  to  the  window  and  peeped  out.  With 
a  start  of  guilty  embarrassment  she  dropped 
the  curtain  and  hurried  back  to  her  place. 

;'  They  are  just  coming,"  she  said  in  a 
whisper,  and  began  nervously  to  rearrange 
the  teacups. 

They  came  hi  with  very  bright  faces,  and 
sat  down  to  tea. 

As  soon  as  the  driving-party  left  the 
farm,  and  Lot  was  alone,  an  idea  which  had 
been  vaguely  but  tumultuously  in  her 
brain  all  day  began  to  take  more  definite 
shape.  Certain  hopes  and  dreams  had 
fallen  away  from  her  in  the  anguish  of  last 
night.  But  whatever  had  fallen  away, 
she  was  not  unhappy,  for  she  had  glorious 
unvarnished  fact  to  fall  back  upon.  Such 
notions  as  that  Mr.  Bravery  intended 
Memory  Cottage  for  her  home  with  him 
were  now  banished  from  her  mind.  But 
no  sooner  did  she  feel  that  her  life  was 
then  empty  of  all  meaning  than  she  knew 
that  she  had  only  to  reach  out  for  her  own 
great  comfort.  He  had  said  :  "If  you  are 
not  able  to  be  happy  I  will  take  you  away 
and  marry  you."  He  had  said  that  in 
this  very  kitchen  ;  he  had  said  it  as  cer- 
tainly as  the  day  was  light,  and  the  night 
dark.  Very  well.  The  time  had  come. 

193  o 


LOT  BARROW 

Perhaps,  even,  Mr.  Bravery  was  deeply 
grieved  that  she  had  never  taken  him  at 
his  word. 

As  Lot  moved  about  the  kitchen,  per- 
forming her  tasks,  she  began  to  feel  the 
wild  pain  of  excitement.  She  tried  to 
keep  it  under.  Whatever  she  did,  she  did 
with  a  kind  of  sacramental  sense  of  gravity. 
When  she  moved  Mr.  Child's  boots  from 
the  kitchen  to  the  place  outside,  she  thought 
she  might  never  touch  his  boots  again. 
When  she  put  coal  on  the  kitchen  fire,  she 
knew  she  would  not  be  there  to  see  it  burn 
away.  And  thus  she  seemed  suddenly 
to  discover  in  her  mind  her  own  plan  of 
flight,  without  knowing  when  it  had  come 
there.  She  had  not  been  conscious  of  its 
advent ;  now  she  gave  it  a  late  but  ex- 
quisite welcome. 

Yes,  her  plan  was  flight — flight  to  Mr. 
Bravery.  The  crisis  had  come :  she  was 
not  happy,  and  it  was  right  and  circumspect 
that  she  should  go  to  him.  It  happened 
that  to  go  to  him  was  so  happy  a  thing 
that  she  was  frightened  for  her  body  if 
she  thought  of  it.  But  she  was  only  doing 
as  he  had  conjured  her,  and  if  he  had 
suggested  torture  she  thought  she  would 
have  obeyed  him  just  the  same. 

Lot  began  to  think  in  a  practical  and 

194 


"LOT  THE  RUNNER" 

diplomatic  strain.  She  must  consider  time 
and  place.  She  knew  that  Mr.  Bravery 
was  not  to  accompany  his  visitors  back  to 
the  farm.  On  at  least  one  night  in  every 
week  Miss  Marsy  insisted  that  Marjorie 
should  go  to  bed  shortly  after  dusk  for  a 
prolonged  rest.  To  soften  the  tyranny, 
Miss  Marsy  imposed  upon  herself  the  same 
performance.  She  punctiliously  saw  to  it 
that  Marjorie  should  not  be  even  five 
minutes  in  the  bedroom  before  her.  Well, 
to-night  had  been  decided  on  for  that 
ceremony ;  and  Mr.  Bravery  was  going 
to  spend  the  evening  at  his  cottage,  and 
write  letters. 

Lot's  tactics  were  simple.  She  must 
arrive  at  the  cottage  after  the  visitors  had 
left  it ;  and  she  must,  on  the  other  hand, 
leave  the  farm  before  they  had  returned 
there.  That  is  to  say,  she  must  cross  them 
on  the  Avay  ;  their  ways  were  different,  and 
they  would  not  meet. 

In  throwing  off  her  imaginative  dream- 
ings,  Lot  had  fallen  back  on  to  the  simple 
meaning  of  Mr.  Bravery's  plain  statement 
to  her.  And  heaven  knows  she  thought 
that  was  good  enough  to  fall  on.  She 
seemed  to  rediscover  its  simplicity,  its 
wonder.  He  had  said :  "I  would  take 
you  away."  She  was  very  literal  in  her 

195 


LOT  BARROW 

interpretation  now,  and  glowed  to  under- 
stand that  however  literal,  however  un- 
varnished the  reading  of  it,  the  phrase  lost 
nothing :  it  rather  seemed  to  gain.  He 
had  said  away,  and  he  meant  away — far, 
far  away.  Her  idea  in  regard  to  Memory 
Cottage  had  been  absurd.  She  had  found 
it  wonderfully  pleasant  to  imagine  herself 
there,  with  the  amazed,  subdued,  envious 
Mrs.  Child  in  the  background  of  the  picture. 
It  now  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  been 
particularly  mean  and  petty  in  her  thoughts, 
and  that  when  Mr.  Bravery  was  leading  her 
to  love  and  dignity  and  greatness,  she  had, 
as  it  were,  stayed  behind  to  continue  to  be 
petty. 

He  meant  away :  and  so  Lot  must  take 
with  her  a  few  things,  so  as  not  to  be  a 
nuisance  to  him,  where  he  should  put  her. 
She  made  a  little  brown  paper  parcel  up  in 
her  room.  She  did  not  include  in  it  her 
piece  of  fur,  because  with  sudden  disillusion 
she  realised  that  it  was  not  very  nice.  She 
left  the  parcel  on  her  bed  with  her  hat  and 
coat,  and  went  down  again  to  the  kitchen, 
where  she  took  the  pen  and  ink  from  their 
place  on  the  dresser,  and  sat  down  to  write 
a  letter. 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Child,"  she  wrote,  "  I  have 
196 


"LOT  THE  RUNNER" 

never  been  happy  here,  and  would  not  have 
stayed  but  for  Mr.  Bravery's  being  so  kind 
to  me.  That  night  you  went  to  the  whist- 
party  he  told  me  he  would  take  me  away 
and  marry  me  if  I  knew  I  could  not  be 
happy  here.  Well,  Mrs.  Child,  that  time 
has  come,  and  so  I  have  gone  to  him. 
I  am  very  sorry  about  the  butter  to-night, 
but  I  can't  possibly  stay.  Will  probably 
write  again. — LOT  BARROW." 

Lot  left  this  note,  addressed  to  Mrs. 
Child,  on  the  kitchen  table.  She  then 
went  to  the  back-door,  and  looked  out. 
At  first  she  thought  it  was  still  full  day- 
light, but,  as  she  stood  there  for  a  few 
minutes,  she  saw  that  it  had  in  reality 
begun  almost  imperceptibly  to  be  dusk. 
She  soon  set  out. 

She  went  slowly,  to  make  sure  of  finding 
Mr.  Bravery  alone.  But  when  she  reached 
the  white-washed  cottage  and  quietly  opened 
the  door,  she  found  that  she  had,  after 
all,  misjudged  her  time.  The  sitting-room 
door  was  closed,  but  she  heard  voices 
within.  She  felt  frightened  at  this  dis- 
arrangement of  her  plans,  and  her  first 
instinct  was  to  run  away  and  come  back 
later.  But  she  feared  to  be  seen  from  the 
window,  if  she  did  that.  She  seemed  to 

197 


LOT  BARROW 

have  been  lucky  enough  to  escape  being 
seen  so  far,  but  she  would  not  run  the  risk 
again.  So  she  stole  through  the  passage 
into  the  kitchen,  and  stood  there  motion- 
less, listening,  for  ten  minutes  that  seemed 
an  age. 

And  then  the  voices  suddenly  grew  loud, 
because  the  sitting-room  door  had  opened  ; 
and  she  heard  the  people  pass  outside  as 
they  talked.  She  then  heard  Mr.  Bravery 
call :  "  I  will  catch  you  up,"  and  he  came 
with  a  swinging  stride  into  the  kitchen. 
He  stopped  dead  short  when  he  saw  Lot. 

*  When  did  you  come  ?  I  didn't  know 
you  were  coming." 

"  Hush  !  "  said  Lot,  and  tip- toed  nearer 
to  him.  "  I  haven't  just  come  to  do  the 
washing-up,  or  to  bring  you  your  supper, 
or  anything  like  that.  I've  come  because 
I'm  not  happy ;  I've  come  because  of 
what  you  said." 

"  What  I  said  ?  Good  God,  Lot,  what 
does  this  mean  ?  " 

She  grew  paler,  but  smiled  at  him. 

'*  You  said  you'd  take  me  away." 

Mr.  Bravery  looked  distraught. 

"  That  was  long  ago.  And  I  thought 
we  had  both  realised  that  there  was  a  change 
since  then." 

"  Do  you  mean  you  don't  want  me  ?  " 

198 


"LOT  THE  RUNNER" 

"  Lot,  I  don't  know  what  to  say ;  I 
don't  know  how  to  tell  you.  I  didn't  know 
you  counted  on  what  I  said.  I  am  going 
to  marry  Miss  Fulleylove." 

She  looked  at  him  very  steadily  ;  she 
could  not  have  cried. 

"  How  silly  I  am  !  "  she  said.  "  I  get 
thinking  things."  She  wondered  in  a  brief 
moment  if  this  was  worse  than  when  she 
had  seen  her  dead  lover,  and  decided  that 
it  was  a  more  deadly  grief.  She  had  screamed 
then,  and  now  she  only  faintly  smiled. 

"  I  must  think,  I  must  think,"  said  Mr. 
Bravery,  turning  this  way  and  that.  "  This 
is  dreadful." 

"  No,"  said  Lot,  with  a  soothing  touch 
on  his  arm.  "  Don't  say  it's  dreadful. 
I  am  so  silly — only  there's  no  harm  done. 
Never  say  a  word  about  it.  Are  they  wait- 
ing for  you  now,  sir  ?  I  thought  you  were 
staying  here,  that's  why  I  came."  She 
suddenly  blushed  deeply. 

"  No,  I  was  going  back  with  them,  be- 
cause of  what  has  happened.  They  are 
not  going  to  bed  early  to-night  after  all. 
But,  oh  Lot,  what  have  I  done  to  you  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  nothing,"  she  said,  coaxingly, 
pushing  him  to  the  door.  "  You  haven't 
hurt  me ;  you've  never  done  me  any- 
thing but  good.  We'll  all  go  home  now, 

199 


LOT  BARROW 

only  I'll  go  by  the  fields.  Run,  sir  ;  they'll 
be  wondering  what's  happened  to  you." 

"  I  had  better  go  now  ;  I  will  talk  to  you 
later.  Bless  you,  Lot !  "  he  said,  and  they 
went  down  the  passage. 

"  Good  Lord  !  "  said  Lot  suddenly,  and 
stopped. 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  what  am  I  to  do  ?  I  put  a  note 
for  Mrs.  Child.  It  said  I  was  coming  to 
you  because  you'd  promised — "  she  stopped, 
in  her  pathetic  tact,  and  then  went  on 
again.  "  It  said  I  was  coming  to  you. 
She'll  get  there  before  me,  and  she'll 
read  it." 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Bravery,  sick  at  heart, 
but  trying  to  speak  with  courage,  "  well, 
that's  not  your  fault,  Lot ;  we  must  just 
make  the  best  of  it." 

"  You  shan't  have  that  to  trouble  you," 
said  Lot,  passionately.  "  Oh,  of  course, 
/  know.  I  know  what  I  can  do."  She 
undid  her  dress  at  the  throat.  "  Don't 
trouble,  sir ;  Mrs.  Child  shall  never  see 
that  letter."  She  vanished  on  her  way 
down  the  field,  and  he  turned  towards  the 
lane. 

Lot  ran  her  fastest,  but  she  could  still 
think,  only  too  terribly  clearly.  All  her 
splendid  speed  did  not  seem  to  make 

200 


"LOT  THE  RUNNER " 

even  one  little  aching  thought  flutter  or 
be  indistinct.  One  idea  she  had  which 
was  better  than  despair :  it  had  a  little 
saving  ambition  in  it.  ;'  They  all  know 
how  wicked  I  can  be.  But  now  he  will 
know  I  can  be  good.  Yes,  I  can  be.  It 
is  not  too  difficult,  not  really." 

As  the  dog-cart  sped  swiftly  through  the 
lanes  in  the  gathering  dusk,  Mr.  Bravery 
sat  deep  in  thought.  Marjorie  stroked  the 
willing  horse  with  her  whip,  until  the  ground 
flew  from  under  them.  They  were  later, 
owing  to  the  wonderful  thing  that  had 
happened,  than  they  had  intended  to  be. 
The  women  were  all  silent,  impressed  with 
the  gravity  and  joy  of  the  engagement. 
They  reached  the  farm,  and  it  seemed  to 
Mr.  Bravery  that  they  had  been  but  a  few 
moments  on  the  way.  Whatever  wild 
plan  Lot  might  have  had  in  her  head  to 
save  their  unhappy  affairs  from  publicity, 
she  could  have  had  no  time  to  accomplish 
anything.  How  much  sooner  would  he  have 
told  Marjorie  quietly  all  about  Lot,  than 
have  the  public  disclosure  which  he  must 
now  face  !  He  thought  his  behaviour,  as 
far  as  poor  Lot  was  concerned,  had  been 
so  blind  and  blameworthy  that  he  fully 
deserved  what  must  befall  him.  But  the 
thought  would  come  and  come  :  that  he 

201 


LOT  BARROW 

would  rather  have  told  Marjorie  not  on 
this  blessed  day,  but  a  little  later,  and 
when  they  were  alone. 

Humphrey  was  waiting  at  the  door  to 
lead  the  horse  away.  It  was  now  dark 
outside,  and  they  walked  into  the  lamp-lit 
hall. 

"  Lot !  "  called  Mrs.  Child  ;  "  come  and 
take  these  things.  Lot ! ': 

There  was  no  answer.  Mr.  Bravery 
stepped  forth  automatically  to  where  he 
could  see  the  kitchen  door,  to  watch  if 
Lot  should  emerge.  It  was  from  there 
that  he  was  used  to  see  her  coming.  He 
strangely  felt  that  some  miracle  might 
have  happened  to  bring  her  there. 

Mrs.  Child  called  again. 

And  now  Lot  came  from  the  kitchen-door. 
At  first  she  seemed  to  step  with  a  slight 
unsteadiness,  and  then  Mr.  Bravery  saw 
her  walk  calmly  and  unhurryingly  towards 
them.  Her  figure  looked  large  and  grand 
in  the  dimly-lit  vista  of  the  white-washed 
passage ;  and  when  she  came  into  the 
light  there  was  a  little  dew  on  her  face, 
but  she  breathed  quietly. 

"  Gracious,  Lot ;  where  is  your  apron  ?  " 
said  Mrs.  Child. 


202 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-THREE:  LOT  IN 
THE  EASY-CHAIR 

A  WEEK  later  Miss  Marsy  and  Marjorie 
had  gone  from  the  farm,  and  Mr. 
Braver}^  with  them.  The  day  after  they 
left,  Mrs.  Child  went  to  London  for  her 
usual  object.  And  that  evening  Mr.  Child 
and  Humphrey  and  Lot  were  in  the  kitchen. 

When  Mrs.  Child  made  her  excursions 
to  the  London  hospital,  Lot  always  quickly 
used  the  opportunity  of  sitting  in  her 
chair.  Lot  would  hardly  even  touch  that 
wide  arm-chair,  with  its  familiar  worn, 
green  padding,  in  the  presence  of  Mrs. 
Child,  but  it  had  always  been  perfectly 
natural  to  her  to  curl  herself  up  in  it,  or 
sit  at  perfect  rest,  with  her  head  stretched 
back,  and  each  arm  listless  on  a  soft  support, 
as  soon  as  ever  that  wonderful  sense  of 
peace  descended  which  in  the  past  had 
always  come  with  Mrs.  Child's  departure. 
Now  that  absence  brought  neither  peace 
nor  regret :  she  was  a  numbed  creature. 

Originally  it  had  been  on  the  tip  of  Mr. 
Child's  tongue  to  remonstrate  at  Lot's 
freedom  with  the  chair,  which  he  never 

203 


LOT  BARROW 

dreamt  of  sitting  in  himself ;  but  having 
once  on  a  kind  impulse  let  the  matter  pass, 
he  had  let  it  pass  ever  since.  And  he  had 
carried  this  concession  to  its  logical  con- 
clusion— that  is  to  say,  he  never  mentioned 
to  his  wife  what  comfortable  use  Lot  made 
of  the  chair. 

This  evening  she  went  straight  to  it 
when  she  had  restored  the  kitchen  to  its 
perfect  order  after  the  evening  meal.  Mr. 
Child  was  making  the  wonderful  sucking 
noises  with  his  tongue  and  his  teeth  which 
were  necessitated  by  feeding — and  man 
must  eat.  And  Humphrey  knew,  from  long 
experience,  by  the  way  his  father  remained 
standing  in  a  leisurely  way  before  the  fire, 
gently  stamping  his  feet  now  and  then 
upon  the  ground,  that  he  was  going  to 
spend  the  evening  at  the  Wheatsheaves. 

Humphrey  went  away  into  one  of  the 
parlours,  and  came  back  carrying  a  book — 
Lorna  Doone.  His  father  eyed  this  action 
with  some  mild  disfavour,  but  was  in  no 
hurry  to  speak.  He  continued  to  suck  ; 
he  undid  the  shirt-stud  at  his  neck ;  he 
felt  amiably  inclined  to  wind  the  clock, 
but  held  himself  in  check  until  later. 

"  Young  Fawcett  will  be  up  at  the 
Sheaves,  I  don't  doubt,"  he  finally  said, 
inducingly.  Fawcett  was  a  young  man 

204 


LOT  IN  THE  EASY-CHAIR 

with  whom  Humphrey  Child  had  a  kind  of 
quiet,  indifferent  friendship. 

"  He's  gone  over  the  hills  to  Sumping- 
ton,"  said  Humphrey,  who  was  sitting  over 
his  book.  That  was  so  much  defeat  for 
Mr.  Child. 

"  It'll  be  fresh  walking  down,"  he  said, 
after  a  while  ;  "  but  Mrs.  Fleet'll  have  put 
the  big  kettle  on,  and  I  shan't  put  nothing 
cold  inside  me  to-night." 

"  Well,  I  won't  be  coming  out,"  said 
Humphrey,  who  gave  the  impression  of 
breaking  silence  against  his  will,  only  to 
keep  his  father  quiet. 

"  I  shan't  be  there  long,"  said  Mr.  Child. 
"  You  could  be  back  to  your  reading." 

This  time  Humphrey  did  not  answer. 
His  eyes  were  fixed  on  his  book  in  a  dull 
stare.  Lot  lay  perfectly  quiet  while  Mr. 
Child  prepared  to  go  out.  When  he  pot- 
tered about  in  a  vain  search  for  his  coat, 
quite  interested  and  pleased,  in  his  idle 
mood,  that  he  did  not  chance  on  it  at  once, 
she  heard  rather  than  saw  what  he  was 
doing,  and  said,  in  a  flat  voice,  "  The 
passage  door."  She  did  not  raise  her  eye- 
lids, which  had  fallen  into  a  curious,  half- 
closed  position. 

She  had  so  much  to  think  about,  and  yet 
could  think  of  nothing.  Certain  events 

205 


LOT  BARROW 

of  the  past  few  days,  such  as  a  talk  with 
Mr.  Bravery,  such  as  a  talk  with  Miss 
Fulleylove,  such  as  her  endurance  of  the 
last  sight  and  sound  of  Mr.  Bravery,  were 
now  like  almost  indistinguishable  mounds 
in  her  desert,  colourless  hills,  that  took  no 
light,  and  even  cast  no  shadow  :  everything 
was  only  grief.  Indeed,  there  was  only 
one  little  thought  in  her  mind  which  seemed 
to  have  any  identity,  any  persistence — the 
thought  that  she  had  given  Mrs.  Child  a 
month's  notice.  That  was  like  a  little 
trickling  stream,  which  she  could  hear  if 
she  would  listen — the  only  note  in  a  world 
gone  suddenly  and  horribly  silent.  Perhaps 
this  fact,  insignificant  in  comparison  with 
her  great  woes,  took  emphasis  from  being 
a  step  into  the  future,  a  guarantee  that 
she  should  not  always  be  in  these  devastated 
rooms,  with  just  this  particular  aspect  of, 
and  surrounding  to,  her  grief.  That  she 
had  given  Mrs.  Child  notice  was  her  only 
link  with  a  future.  It  was  a  path  which 
even  if  she  did  not  know  to  what  it  led,  she 
knew  whence  it  led.  There  could  hardly 
be  a  prospect  more  closed,  more  dark,  than 
that ;  and  yet  it  was  her  greatest  light. 

Humphrey  looked  up  at  Lot,  after  they 
had  been  alone  for  some  minutes.  Then, 
in  strange  discomfort,  he  tried  to  read. 

206 


LOT  IN  THE  EASY-CHAIR 

By  the  next  time  he  looked  up  her  ex- 
pression would  have  changed,  he  expected. 

Whenever  she  was  in  repose  she  was  so 
extraordinarily  still ;  you  could  not  hear 
her  breathe,  even, — however  close  you 
might  be  to  her.  Humphrey  had  noticed 
that,  because  he  had  so  often  listened  to 
her  when  he  had  been  too  proud  to  look. 
You  could  not  hear  her  breathe  any  more 
than  you  could  hear  a  bird  breathe. 

That  stillness  of  hers  compelled  him  to 
look  soon.  But  her  expression  had  not 
changed.  It  unnerved  him  singularly  that 
her  eyes  should  be  neither  closed  nor  open. 
It  made  him  think  of  pain.  He  had  a 
memory  of  a  little  cat  who  had  lain  for  a 
day  before  she  died  with  her  eyelids  fallen  a 
little  over  her  eyes,  and  yet  not  fallen 
enough.  He  wished  Lot  would  close  her 
eyes  if  she  were  sleepy,  or  if  she  were 
unhappy  he  wished  she  would  open  her 
eyes  and  cry. 

He  left  Jan  Ridd  indifferently  to  the 
prospect  of  a  violent  death,  and  with 
increasing  tension  watched  Lot's  face. 
The  lamp  was  at  his  elbow,  and  his  face, 
in  light  and  shadow,  had  its  look  of  beauty 
which  ill-temper  and  dissatisfaction  gener- 
ally marred.  Under  his  low,  straight  brow 
his  eyes  could  look  so  keen  and  dark,  if 

207 


LOT  BARROW 

only  something  could  touch  the  life  within 
him.  When  that  life  was  touched  his 
response  was  always  beautiful ;  and  his 
smile  was  beautiful — his  smile  which  his 
mother  never  saw. 

As  he  watched  Lot  those  eyelids  of  hers 
lifted,  and  her  eyes  were  upon  his.  In  her 
apathy,  wherever  her  eyes  had  chanced  to 
rest,  there  they  would  stay,  as  if  they  were 
too  heavy  to  move  again.  And  she  looked 
at  him  for  many  moments  before  she 
gradually  came  to  the  consciousness  of 
him.  And  then  she  continued  to  look. 

Even  when  she  knew  that  this  was 
Humphrey's  face,  she  continued  to  see  it 
newly  ;  it  was  so  handsome,  its  expression 
so  momentous,  that  it  sent  a  little  shaft 
into  her  brain.  It  was  something  different 
from  her  grief ;  she  almost  felt  a  hope 
concerning  it — that  it  might  mean  relief. 

She  smiled  faintly  at  him,  and  moved 
her  hand. 

"  Are  you  reading,  Humphrey  ?  " 

"  No." 

After  a  pause  she  gave  him  the  same  smile 
again. 

"  Would  you  like  to  kiss  me  ?  "  She 
had  now  got  hold  of  something  tangible 
for  that  close  blank  future. 

Humphrey  got  up  and  came  to  her, 

208 


LOT  IN  THE  EASY-CHAIR 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  ?  " 

"  I  thought  perhaps  you'd  like  it,"  she 
said. 

"  I  won't  kiss  you  for  that,"  said  Hum- 
phrey. 

Lot  looked  very  tired.  "  I  thought  you 
— I  thought  people  liked  to  kiss  me,"  she 
repeated.  "  /  don't  know."  She  spoke 
like  some  one  dispassionately  collecting 
uninteresting  information. 

"  Sometimes  I  feel  as  if  I  would  give  my 
life  to  kiss  you." 

"  But  not  now  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Lord  yes,  now,  now.  But  before 
I  kiss  you,  you  will  have  to  tell  me  some- 
thing." 

She  looked  coldly.     "  What  ?  " 

"  Lot,  my  heart,  my  darling,  tell  me  you 
love  me." 

'  No,  I  don't,"  she  said. 

"  Then  I  will  never  kiss  you,"  he  cried, 
in  a  kind  of  impotent  revenge. 

The  punishment  fell  only  too  lightly  on 
her.  She  sighed,  but  not  for  him,  and 
turned  her  head  slightly  away,  and  her 
eyelids  began  to  droop.  This  was  so 
horrible  to  Humphrey  that  he  shook  her 
by  the  shoulder. 

"  No,  no,  Lot,  look  at  me,  speak  to  me  ! 
It  need  not  be  very  much, — just  a  tiny, 

209  p 


LOT  BARROW 

tiny  love — and  I  will  take  you  in  my  arms, 
my  darling." 

She  did  not  look  at  him,  and  considered. 
She  had  an  unworthy  thought  of  deceiving 
him,  but  something  that  she  dimly  felt  was 
noble  in  his  look  prevented  her.  He  was 
kneeling  down,  and  he  put  his  arms  round 
her  chair,  and  pressed  his  head  to  the  wood. 

"  I  love  you  so  !  Think  carefully,  Lot. 
Isn't  there  any  love  in  your  heart  ?  " 

"  I  don't  see  that  there's  any  such  thing 
as  love,"  said  Lot,  "  or  happiness,  or  un- 
happiness." 

"  What's  the  use  of  talking  like  that  ?  " 
said  Humphrey,  bewildered. 

"  Sometimes  I  think  like  that.  And  then 
sometimes  I  think  I  can't  live  for  loving  so 
much." 

* '  Loving  who  ? ' '  said  Humphrey.    "  Me  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Lot.  "  Him  who's  gone 
from  here." 

"  Mr.  Bravery  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  with  a  faint  red  in  her 
cheek.  "  Of  course  I  mean  him." 

"  I  wonder  what  made  you  love  him," 
said  Humphrey. 

"  Yes,  I  daresay  you  wonder,"  said  Lot, 
almost  spitefully.  "  You  don't  know  what 
a  man  he  is  !  You  don't  know  !  Oh,  the 
things  he's  taught  me — things  you've  never 

210 


LOT  IN  THE  EASY-CHAIR 

heard  of !  He's  been  kind  to  me.  He 
must  be  the  greatest  man  that  ever  lived." 

"  Did  he  teach  you  that  there's  no  such 
thing  as  unhappiness  ?  "  said  Humphrey. 

"  Yes,  he  did.  And  I  have  almost  learnt 
it — so  nearly  learnt  it.  Only  I  am  very 
weak,  and  seem  to  lose  it  all.  Still,  some- 
times I  do  really  feel  it  all  over  me — I  feel 
how  unreal  everything  is,  and  one  thing's 
pretty  much  the  same  as  another." 

"  What  infernal    rot !  "  said  Humphrey. 

She  sat  up  stiffly  and  angrily. 

"It  is  just  like  you  to  say  that.  You 
can't  understand  ;  some  people  never  can. 
He  said  that  himself.  You're  only  to  be 
pitied,  you  know,"  she  assured  him. 

"  I  don't  know  about  that.  I  don't 
stand  to  gain  anything  by  all  I  suffer, 
that's  certain  ;  but  it  would  take  me  a 
pretty  long  time  to  persuade  myself  that 
I  didn't  suffer.  When  a  man  just  seems  to 
want  things  with  all  his  might  on  purpose 
to  have  to  do  without  them,  the  same  as 
me,  I  daresay  it  would  be  nice  to  think 
there's  no  such  thing  as  sorrow,  but — no,  I 
can't  say  that's  going  to  help  we." 

"  Well,  of  course  Mr.  Bravery  said  that 
it  took  some  time  to  learn,"  said  Lot.  "  I 
didn't  see  it  right  off  myself." 

Humphrey  evidently  did  not  believe  in 

211 


LOT  BARROW 

the  efficiency  of  this  kind  of  comfort,  even 
for  her  who  claimed  to  be  convinced,  for  he 
said : 

"  Oh,  Lot,  my  own  loved  one,  do  you 
suffer  as  I  suffer  ?  I  can't  bear  for  you  to 
suffer.  Do  you  want  him  the  same  as  I 
want  you  ?  ' 

Lot  suddenty  broke  down.  "It's  dread- 
ful," she  whispered.  But  because  of  his 
sympathy  there  was  for  the  first  time  some 
far-off  sweetness  in  her  pain.  Now  they 
held  hands  and  looked  at  each  other's 
piteous  faces.  Humphrey  thought  how 
gladly  he  would  die  if  that  could  give  Lot 
her  heart's  desire  ;  but  if  dying  was  easy, 
getting  Mr.  Bravery  for  Lot  was  impossible. 

"  And  you  can  never  have  him,"  he  said. 

"  What  would  a  man  like  that  do  with 
me  ?  "  she  said  with  a  cruel  sob. 

"  Can  you  bear  it,  my  darling  girl  ?  ': 

"  Yes,  Humphrey,  yes,"  she  said.  .  .  "I've 
given  Mrs.  Child  a  month's  notice." 

He  too  was  struck  with  the  barrenness 
of  that  as  a  future. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  yet."  Then  she  thought 
of  his  grief — learnt  to  be  more  compassionate 
now  than  she  used  to  be.  "  You've  had  a 
lot  of  trouble,  Humphrey.  I'm  sorry.  You 
wanted  to  go  to  sea  very  much,  didn't  you  ?  " 

212 


LOT  IN  THE  EASY-CHAIR 

Humphrey  nodded. 

"  And  you  want  me  very  much  ?  " 

He  nodded  again. 

She  looked  at  the  clock,  and  got  up  to 
go  to  bed. 

"  Humphrey." 

"  Yes  ?  " 

"  Which  of  those  two  do  you  want  the 
most  ?  " 

He  stared  at  her.  "  Which  do  I  want  the 
most  ?"  he  repeated.  "  Oh,  Lot,  really, 
what  a  strange  thing  to  ask,"  he  said,  with  a 
little,  uneasy  laugh. 

"  Well,  which  do  you  ?  "  she  said. 

"  It — it  seems  so  strange  to  have  to  say 
a  thing  like  that,"  said  Humphrey,  obviously 
embarrassed.  "  Off  to  bed,  Lot  ?  " 

"In  a  minute,  I  suppose,"  she  said. 
"  Do  tell  me,  Humphrey." 

He  sat  down  suddenly  at  the  table. 
"  Well,  of  course,"  he  said,  slowly,  "  ever 
since  I  was  a  kid  I've  had  my  heart  set  on 
going  to  sea.  I  think  it  must  be  something 
strange  in  me — the  way  I've  wanted  that. 
I  don't  only  just  want  it  very  much,  you 
know,"  he  said,  trying  to  explain.  "It 
regularly  comes  over  me  so  that  I  feel 
almost  mad.  Yes,  it  must  be  something 
strange  in  me.  I've  many  a  time  set  out 
to  go — yes,  in  the  middle  of  the  night. 


LOT  BARROW 

They  don't  know  anything  about  that," 
he  said,  jerking  his  head  in  a  vague  direction 
to  where  his  mother  and  father  might  be 
supposed  to  be.  "  I've  always  come  back. 
They  talk  such  a  lot  about  it  breaking  their 
hearts,  and  father  always  tells  me  that 
mother  nearly  died  when  I  was  born ;  she 
wouldn't  be  what  she  is  now,  if  it  wasn't 
for  me.  Well,  anyway,  what  with  one 
thing  and  another  that  they've  said,  they've 
not  given  me  a  chance."  He  thumped  the 
table.  "I've  been  tied  to  this  blessed 
place,  by  what  they've  said  from  first  to 
last,  just  the  same  as  if  I'd  been  in  irons." 

"  Still,  if  you'd  not  been  here  you  wouldn't 
have  met  me,"  said  Lot,  thinking  that  it 
was  about  time  for  the  other  aspect  of  the 
matter  to  be  dwelt  on  now. 

"  No.  Well,  then  there's  you.  I  love 
you,  Lot.  You  are  my  own  darling  Lot. 
That's  the  word  I  always  think  of  when  I 
think  of  you.  Darling,  darling — I  say  it 
to  myself.  Little  things  you  do — you 
don't  know  how  they  make  me  love  you. 
When  you  look  angry,  when  you  water  the 
flowers,  when  you  sit  in  mother's  chair — 
oh,  I  can't  explain  !  And  once  when  you 
wanted  terribly  to  cry,  and  pretended  you 
were  smiling " 

"  What,  was  that  the  time  I  burnt  my 


LOT  IN  THE  EASY-CHAIR 

arm  on  the  flat-iron  ?  "  asked  Lot,  deeply 
interested. 

"  No,"  said  Humphrey  ;  "it  wasn't  that. 
It  was  one  morning  just  after  breakfast. 
I  think  you'd  done  something " 

"  There  was  that  time  I  let  the  bread 
fall,"  said  Lot,  eager  to  know  when  she  had 
been  so  attractive.  "  Would  it  be  then, 
I  wonder  ?  I  remember  your  mother  did 
come  down  on  me  ;  and  I  used  to  get  so 
upset.  Do  you  think  it  was  then  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  I  remember  that  morning. 
No,  this  was  another  morning.  I  can't 
remember  what  it  was  all  about.  But  I 
remember  your  face." 

Lot  thought  for  a  few  moments  more, 
and  then  gave  it  up. 

"  Oh,  well,  it  can't  be  helped,"  she  said. 
"  Go  on." 

"  And  you  are  so  beautiful,"  said  Hum- 
phrey ;  "so  wonderfully  beautiful.  Any- 
way, I  love  you  very,  very  much." 

Lot  looked  at  him  gently.  She  collected 
the  things  she  always  carried  up  to  bed 
with  her. 

"  Still,  you  haven't  told  me." 

"  Told  you  what,  Lot  ?  "  said  Humphrey, 
dishonestly. 

"  You  know.   Which  you  want  the  most." 

"  Look,  Lot — the  clock'll  slip  from  your 

215 


LOT  BARROW 

arm ;  take  care.  I  don't  know  what  to 
say — no,  I  don't  know,  I'm  sure.  I  want 
both.  Yes,  that's  all  there  is  to  say  about 

it.     If  I  had  to  choose,  I  don't  know . 

Oh,  good  Lord,  why  do  I  talk  about  it," 
he  said  in  sudden  bitterness,  "  when  I 
haven't  got  either  ?  " 


216 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-FOUR :   HOUSE 
PROPERTY 

LOT  had  a  letter  from  Mr.  Bravery. 
She  read  it  with  the  same  kind  of 
reluctance  that  she  had  felt  the  last  time 
he  had  talked  to  her,  and  when  Miss  Fulley- 
love  had  talked  to  her.  She  had  felt 
weary  of  their  very  kindness,  their  per- 
fection, their  desirability,  and  now  it 
wearied  her  to  read  his  considerate  and 
generous  letter. 

And  yet  the  letter  contained  news  which 
should  have  aroused  more  zeal ;  for  Mr. 
Bravery  bestowed  upon  Lot  his  Memory 
Cottage,  to  be  hers  to  do  what  she  liked  with. 
He  wrote  kindly  and  clearly.  He  should 
not  come  there  himself  again,  but  instead 
of  getting  rid  of  it  in  the  ordinary  way,  he 
chose  to  give  it  to  Lot.  She  might  possibly 
never  be  able  to  live  in  it  herself,  but  some 
day,  in  some  way,  it  might  prove  an  ad- 
vantage to  her  to  possess  it. 

In  another  letter  Mr.  Bravery  sent  the 
same  tidings  to  Mrs.  Child.  When  Lot, 
who,  in  spite  of  her  indifference  to  her  gift, 
did  feel  just  a  little  satisfaction  in  the 

217 


LOT  BARROW 

prospect  of  telling  Mrs.  Child  about  it, 
went  to  her  to  do  so,  she  found  her  already 
in  the  somewhat  dazed  state  of  mind  that 
the  information  was  likely  to  produce. 

"  It  appears  I've  had  a  present  given  me,'* 
began  Lot. 

"  Yes,  I  know.  Mr.  Bravery  has  in- 
formed me  himself,"  said  Mrs.  Child.  "  Well, 
all  I  can  say  is,  Lot,  it's  evident  he  wants 
to  do  you  a  good  turn." 

"  Yes,"  said  Lot,  heavily.  "  Of  course 
I've  never  had  a  house  of  my  own  before. 
Well,  that's  natural.  But  I  mean  I  never 
thought  I  should  have  a  house,  not  of  my 
own." 

"  No,  I  don't  suppose  you  did.  When 
first  I  ever  got  my  sister's  letter  about  you, 
Lot,  the  thought  came  right  over  me : 
4  I'll  have  her  here.'  I'm  not  pretending 
I  can  see  into  the  future,  but  the  thought 
came  over  me  :  '  It'll  be  for  her  good  if  I 
have  her  here.'  And  now  you've  got  this 
house." 

"  When  I  first  came  here,  Mrs.  Child, 
were  you  sorry  for  me  ?  " 

"  That  I  was,"  said  Mrs.  Child. 

"  I  thought  if  you  were  you'd  have  told 
me  so.  And  perhaps  put  your  arm  round 
me,  and  said :  '  There,  there,  Lot ;  try 
not  to  think  so  much  about  it.'  ' 

218 


HOUSE   PROPERTY 

"  Oh,  of  course  it's  always  best  not  to 
get  brooding,"  said  Mrs.  Child. 

"  Yes,  but  I  mean  I  didn't  know  you  were 
sorry  for  me." 

"  Well,  that  was  my  sole  reason  for 
having  you.  I  didn't  have  you  because  I 
thought  you'd  got  a  specially  fine  record, 
did  I,  Lot  ?  And  I  didn't  have  you 
because  I  thought  you'd  be  a  first-rate 
worker,  did  I  ?  No — considering  that 
you'd  probably  done  pretty  well  as  you 
pleased  in  your  father's  house,  without 
a  mother  to  teach  you  how  to  use  your 
hands." 

"  I  never  thought  much  about  your 
having  me  because  you  were  sorry  for  me. 
I  only  felt  bitter  against  you  because  you 
didn't  comfort  me." 

"  And  there  I  was  trying  to  make  you 
into  a  good,  happy  girl,  with  plenty  of  work 
and  plenty  of  food,  and  a  good  home.  I 
suppose  that's  my  way  of  comforting." 

"  I  was  wicked,"  said  Lot,  on  the  verge 
of  tears.  "  May  I  kiss  you  now,  Mrs. 
Child,  and  then  I'll  feel  as  if  you'd  forgiven 
me." 

"  Don't  you  think  I  know,  my  girl," 
said  Mrs.  Child,  "  how  cross  and  sharp  I 
speak  and  act  ?  It's  the  wearing  pain  that 
does  it,  I  do  believe.  And  I  was  afraid  of 

219 


LOT  BARROW 

you,  in  a  way  ;  that's  the  truth.  I  didn't 
know  how  you'd  treat  Humphrey.  But  I 
believe  you're  a  good  girl,  Lot." 

They  kissed  each  other. 

"  If  you  like,  I'll  overlook  that  you  gave 
me  a  month's  notice — that's  to  say,  if  you 
are  going  to  continue  in  service  after 
what's  happened." 

"  I  suppose  I  shall  continue  in  service," 
said  Lot,  uncertainly.  "  Thanks  very  much, 
Mrs.  Child,  but  I  think  I  would  like  a 
change." 

"  You  can't  live  up  there  alone,  and  you 
can't  live  on  bricks  and  mortar." 

"  No,  I  couldn't  live  up  there  alone — 
not  unless  I  took  a  lodger,"  said  Lot,  laugh- 
ing diffidently  at  her  sudden  brave  sug- 
gestion. "  I  suppose  I  shall  go  in  service 
again,  only  I  should  like  to  keep  in  this 
part  of  the  country." 

"  You  wouldn't  find  a  nicer  part,"  said 
Mrs.  Child. 

"  No,  and  you  see  I  could  keep  my  eye 
on  the  place  then.  I  could  come  over  odd 
times,  perhaps,  and  have  a  look  at  how  it's 
going  on.  It  wouldn't  be  nice  to  have 
anything  happen  to  the  property  and  me 
far  away,"  said  Lot,  feeling  at  last  a  brief 
personal  glow  of  the  pride  of  ownership. 

Mr.  Child  came  in  and  heard  the  news. 

220 


HOUSE  PROPERTY 

He  did  not  show  any  surprise,  for  that 
would  be  to  admit  that  he  had  not  foreseen 
the  event.  No,  Mr.  Child  had  never  been 
surprised  in  his  life.  When  his  wife  told 
him  of  Lot's  good  fortune,  his  face  did  not 
lose  its  commonplace,  everyday  look ;  only 
the  commonplace,  everyday  look  seemed 
suddenly  stuck  on  to  it,  instead  of  only 
lying  on  it.  He  carried  his  stolidity  a 
little  far,  perhaps,  because  his  first  remark, 
on  hearing  the  news,  was  :  "I'm  ready  for 
breakfast,  mother,  so  as  it's  ready  for  me. 
What's  the  paper  got  to  say  ?  Well,  Lot, 
that  ought  to  fetch  you  a  husband.  If  you 
can  pervide  the  home  I  should  say  you 
ought  to  be  able  to  fix  yourself  up  quicker 
than  some.  You'll  have  them  all  coming 
round  to  the  back-door,  mother  ;  you  keep 
your  eye  out." 

"  Yes,"  said  Lot,  responding  cheerfully 
to  Mr.  Child,  according  to  a  long  habit, 
"  who'll  come  first,  Mr.  Child  ?  James 
Halkett  ?  "  They  all  laughed.  (This  was 
a  purely  local  and  limited  joke,  which 
hardly  needs  amplifying.  James  Halkett 
was  simply  impossible.) 

It  cannot  be  denied  that  Lot  now  assumed 
a  certain  subtle  importance  in  the  household 
which  she  had  not  enjoyed  before.  She  was 
just  conscious  of  it,  as  the  days  went  by, 

221 


LOT  BARROW 

and  into  her  bruised,  indifferent  heart  there 
gradually  crept  a  permanent  faint  reflection 
of  what  the  pleasure  of  possession  can  be. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  this  gift  was  an  op- 
portune blessing  from  Mr.  Bravery ;  it 
came  just  at  the  moment  when  any  gleam 
of  light  shed  on  the  future  threw  her  grief 
into  a  comparative,  faint  obscurity.  And 
so  the  next  Thursday  she  decided,  though 
in  a  rather  half-hearted  way,  that  she  would 
use  her  afternoon's  freedom  to  walk  up 
to  the  cottage  and  look  at  it  for  the  first 
time  as  an  owner. 

She  left  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Child  suffering  from 
a  rare  gloom.  Some  time  ago  Mr.  Child 
had  invested  his  capital  anew,  and  by  some 
means,  known  to  financiers,  the  shares  he 
had  purchased  were  now  worth  slightly  less 
than  what  he  had  given  for  them.  This 
created  in  the  household  a  more  gloomy 
state  of  affairs  than  the  slight  depreciation 
of  value  would  reasonably  warrant.  For 
Mr.  Child  was  placed  in  the  unprecedented 
position  of  having  perhaps  done  something 
ill-judged.  Now  long  habit  had  established 
between  this  man  and  wife  the  fact  that 
he  could  not  do  things  ill-judged.  Half  of 
this  belief  was  based  on  a  kind  of  pretence, 
which  was  as  real,  however,  to  the  pretenders 
as  any  truth.  Mr.  Child  could  and  did  make 

222 


HOUSE  PROPERTY 

mistakes,  but  all  trace  of  them  was  ignored 
or  obliterated  by  the  husband  and  wife, 
for  their  own  satisfaction  and  conviction. 
For  instance,  when  a  row  of  red  chrysan- 
themums, planted  by  Mr.  Child,  came  up 
without  making  by  any  means  the  particular 
show  he  had  said  they  would  make,  the 
unsuccessful  plants  were  pulled  up,  with 
as  little  comment  as  possible.  They  were 
hardly  failures,  as  the  normal  flower  goes, 
but  they  were  not  the  very  special  thing  Mr. 
Child  had  said  they  would  be.  "  Wouldn't 
some  wall-flowers  make  a  pretty  show  there  ?" 
Mrs.  Child  suggested,  to  which  Mr.  Child 
replied,  with  husbandly  indulgence  :  "As 
you  like,  my  girl ;  it's  outside  your  kitchen 
window,  so  you've  the  right  to  speak." 
And  this  effacing  of  the  flowers  which  had 
failed  to  justify  Mr.  Child's  prophecy  con- 
cerning them  was  not  done  so  much  to 
preserve  his  reputation  with  some  outside 
audience  as  to  preserve  his  reputation  with 
himself  and  his  wife.  They  were  fully 
deceived  by  their  own  manoeuvres. 

But  sunken  shares  could  not  be  surrep- 
titiously raised  to  do  him  credit,  and  so 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Child  were  under  a  shadow, 
— until  the  great  day  should  come  when 
his  choice  of  an  investment  would  be  more 
than  justified. 

223 


LOT  BARROW 

And  it  ought  to  be  said  that  their  double 
confidence  in  him  had  a  good  deal  of  fact 
for  basis  ;  the  confidence  was  only  exag- 
gerated, not  invented.  He  really  was  rather 
an  expert  man — the  kind  of  man  who  has 
an  essential  capability  for  doing  things. 
If  circumstances  demanded  it,  he  could 
come  in  from  his  various  and  arduous  work 
outside  and  take  upon  himself  Mrs.  Child's 
work  in  the  kitchen  or  dairy,  and  do  it  as 
well  as  she  could  do  it  herself.  That  kind 
of  thing  was  bound  to  impress  his  wife ;  she 
knew  she  could  not  go  out  into  the  meadow 
or  garden  and  take  her  husband's  place. 

But  now  this  new  property-owner,  Lot, 
is  walking  out  on  her  Thursday  afternoon. 
First  she  went  to  the  village,  to  buy  some- 
thing, and  from  there  she  took  a  long, 
circuitous  way  to  the  cottage.  She  went 
through  the  stubbly  fields  ;  she  wanted  to 
prolong  her  walk  so  that  it  would  help  to 
fill  up  her  long  afternoon,  and  she  fancied 
it  would  be  nice  to  come  at  the  cottage 
from  behind,  to  know  her  property  in  all 
its  aspects — to  see  it,  as  she  approached, 
in  a  different  landscape  from  that  in  which 
she  was  accustomed  to  see  it. 

She  strode  through  the  fields.  It  was  a 
day  most  common  in  that  country.  A 
strong  noisy  wind  blew  from  the  south-west 

224 


HOUSE  PROPERTY 

quarter,  laden  with  damp.  The  trees  and 
ground  were  dark  with  wet,  and  the  sky, 
for  all  its  speed,  never  broke  back  to  a 
light  place.  Lot's  eyes  grew  tired,  and  her 
hands  damp  and  sticky,  as  she  walked  in 
that  southern  storm  of  wind.  Not  long  ago 
she  would  perhaps  have  run,  in  defiance  of 
the  weather  and  the  soft,  uneven  ground ; 
but  now  to  think  of  running  made  her 
conscious  of  feeling  a  little  weak  in  her 
knees.  Most  poignant  tears  came  into 
her  eyes  when  she  thought  of  that  happy 
gift  of  hers  which,  ever  since  an  evening 
not  long  ago,  had  seemed  to  her  like  a 
friend  turned  enemy.  Her  running,  her 
dearest  possession,  she  had  used,  in  a  sense, 
against  herself.  It  had  been  of  service 
to  Mr.  Bravery,  and  for  that  she  would 
always  be  glad.  But  if  only  it  could  have 
been  the  means  of  securing  Mr.  Bravery  to 
her,  instead  of  the  means  of  freeing  him  ! 
Supposing  he  had  been  in  some  place  where 
she  could  find  him  and  have  him  if  only 
she  could  run  fast  enough.  The  more 
severe  the  test,  the  better ;  provided  that 
it  was  only  just  within  reason,  Lot  knew 
she  would  have  reached  him  in  time,  and 
clasped  him. 

She    checked    her    thoughts.     She    had 
bitter  sense  enough  to  know  that  this  was 

225  Q 


LOT  BARROW 

the  kind  of  thought  most  unprofitable  to 
her  peace  of  mind,  the  kind  of  thought  that 
turned  her  days  into  a  long,  aching  distress. 

She  came  now  to  the  field  in  which  the 
cottage  stood  ;  and  she  entered  the  field 
at  the  point  farthest  from  her  usual  way. 
The  cottage  looked  unfamiliarly  at  her, 
and  seemed  at  first  a  thing  to  be  run  away 
from,  because  there  was  something  dreadful 
in  the  impossibility  of  Mr.  Bravery's  being 
inside  it.  With  a  great  effort  she  tried  to 
remember  that  this  was  her  nice  little  house, 
and  that  it  was  a  fine  thing  to  possess  a 
house,  and  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Child  thought 
all  the  better  of  her,  and  that  she  would 
soon  write  and  tell  Jennie  Parker,  who 
was  in  London. 

And  was  it  so  impossible,  after  all,  that  Mr. 
Bravery  should  be  there  ?  she  thought,  as 
she  plodded  wearily  over  the  field,  and  felt 
nervously  in  her  pocket  for  the  key.  Her 
great  longing  to  find  him  there  compelled 
her  to  admit  a  possibility,  even  before  she 
could  invent  any  plausible  reason  for  his 
presence.  And  then  even  the  plausible 
reason  occurred  to  her,  for  might  he  not 
have  come  to  collect  some  of  his  things  ? 
How  likely  !  She  had  a  sudden  joy,  as  if 
the  sun  had  come  to  warm  the  wind  that 
blew  on  her. 

226 


HOUSE  PROPERTY 

She  opened  the  door  with  her  key  as 
quickly  as  she  could,  and  then,  holding 
the  door  with  one  hand,  and  bending  for- 
ward, she  listened.  But  that  was  a  plan 
of  too  great  suspense.  So  she  said  in  a 
loud  voice : 

"  Mr.  Bravery  !     Are  you  there  ?  " 

The  silence  now  was  appalling.  Silence, 
to  her,  was  apt  to  lose  its  purely  negative 
quality,  and  to  become  something  with  a 
presence  and  a  power.  She  knew  now  that 
Mr.  Bravery  was  not  here  ;  but  someone 
was  here,  and  that  was  Silence,  and  Silence 
might  stifle  her  and  take  her  breath  away. 

She  remembered  how  often  she  had  been 
here  before,  in  no  less  silence  than  this, 
without  heeding  it.  And  she  went  in,  and 
visited  each  room,  trying,  in  a  rather 
pathetic  way,  to  be  self-important  and 
proud,  and  trying  not  to  listen  to  the 
silence. 

And  then  she  came  to  the  table  where 
she  had  been  used  to  see  him  at  work, 
perhaps  reading  his  long,  white  proofs, 
which  had  always  been  to  her  things  of 
peculiar  interest.  And  she  sat  in  his  chair, 
and  the  top  part  of  her  body  lay  forward 
on  the  table,  in  a  kind  of  climax  of  grief. 

She  kept  very  humble,  with  all  her 
grieving.  She  knew  she  was  not  good 

227 


LOT  BARROW 

enough  for  him  ;  she  told  herself,  with  the 
freest,  saddest  tears,  that  he  had  got  some- 
one worthy  of  him,  someone  beautiful  and 
good  for  him,  someone  utterly  attractive. 

But  there  was  a  word  that  pierced  her 
heart  with  hardly  endurable  pain ;  the 
word  was  "  childie."  If  he  had  never  called 
her  that,  she  thought  she  could  have  en- 
dured all  things  better.  It  seemed  to  her 
so  soft,  so  sweet,  so  tender ;  it  put  the 
finest  edge  to  grief,  and  she  lay  and  sobbed 
until  she  suddenly  was  quiet  again,  because 
when  she  made  a  noise  she  could  not  listen. 


228 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-FIVE:  NICE 
MANNERS 

LOT  still  nursed  that  word  "  childie  " 
in  her  heart  on  her  way  home,  as 
the  hand  nurses  a  wounded  bird.  But  she 
was  calmer  now,  as  if  she  had  shed  some 
despair  with  her  tears.  And  another  word 
came  into  her  mind, — "darling,"  as  darling 
was  said  by  Humphrey  Child,  with  a  depth 
and  an  ardour  a  little  more  appealing  than 
she  had  ever  heard  before.  One  word 
was  far,  far  sweeter  to  her  than  the  other, 
but  "  darling  "  had  just  touched  her  eager, 
inconstant  heart,  and  perhaps  it  was  some- 
thing to  be  darling  if  she  could  not  be  that 
other  thing. 

When  she  reached  the  farm,  and  went 
into  the  kitchen,  she  had  the  pleasure  and 
surprise  of  seeing  Jennie  seated  there  with 
the  Childs.  Jennie  had  been  supposed  to 
be  in  a  "  place  "  in  London  ;  she  explained 
with  grave  importance  that  her  health  had 
broken  down,  but  she  looked  blooming. 
It  turned  out  that  the  allowance  of  food  had 
been  strictly  limited  in  that  "  place."  (As 
a  matter  of  fact,  Jennie,  from  her  appear- 

229 


LOT  BARROW 

ance,  must  have  suffered  more  from  in- 
dignation than  from  hunger — she  had 
probably  circumvented  any  scandalous  re- 
strictions.) Lot  was  very  pleased  to  see 
Jennie.  She  noticed,  too,  when  she  came 
into  the  room,  how  Humphrey's  face 
softened  and  kindled  at  the  sight  of  her. 
He  suffered  still,  since  he  knew  Lot's  heart, 
but  he  was  more  human  and  less  proud, 
and  his  face  was  a  most  clear  and  sensitive 
reflection  of  his  feelings.  Lot  was  the 
happier  for  seeing  his  look. 

"  Jennie  !  "  she  exclaimed,  with  more 
life  in  her  voice  than  there  had  been  for 
some  days  ;  "I  never  expected  to  see  you 
here  !  "  Of  course  every  one  knew  that 
she  had  not  expected  to  see  Jennie,  but 
somehow  they  would  have  felt  a  lack  if 
she  had  not  said  so.  Lot  and  Jennie 
kissed  each  other,  but  while  Lot  kissed, 
her  eyes  went  over  Jennie's  shoulder  with 
a  pure,  involuntary  look  to  Humphrey. 

The  kitchen  was  bright  with  fire  and 
lamp-light.  The  flimsy  summer  curtains 
had  been  taken  down,  and  were  replaced 
by  thick  crimson  ones,  which  were  now 
drawn  over  the  window.  Lot  had  closed 
the  door  when  she  came  in,  for  the  wind 
blew  stronger  and  stronger ;  they  were 
very  cosy  in  here.  Lot  drew  near  to  the 

230 


NICE   MANNERS 

fire,  and  held  out  her  rather  cold,  red  hands. 
Thursday  was  a  slack  day  at  the  farm,  and 
Mr.  Child  and  Humphrey  had  finished 
their  work  some  little  time  ago. 

"  And  when  did  you  come,  Jennie  ?  " 
said  Lot. 

"  I  returned  the  day  before  yesterday," 
said  Jennie.  She  had  more  than  ever 
that  air  of  independence  which  Lot  used  so 
much  to  admire.  And  London  had  added 
a  correctness  to  her  tone. 

"  I  never  saw  you  go  by,"  said  Mrs.  Child. 

"  My  missus  doesn't  like  to  think  she 
misses  anything,"  said  Mr.  Child,  winking 
at  the  company. 

"  It  was  that  dreadful  wet  day,"  said 
Jennie  ;  "  and  the  closed  'bus.  I  did  wave 
my  handkerchief,  though." 

"  Hope  you're  better,  Jennie,"  said  Hum- 
phrey, smiling. 

"  Yes,  I  am,"  said  Jennie.  "  Thanks  for 
the  enquiry." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Child  had  ceased  to  be 
depressed,  with  the  coming  of  the  visitor ; 
it  was  such  a  boon  to  have  someone  come 
in  on  the  long,  dark  evenings.  They  had 
already  enjoyed  telling  Jennie  about  Lot 
and  her  house.  Now  Jennie,  very  anxious 
not  to  appear  envious,  but  deeply  thrilled 
by  the  affair,  asked  Lot  what  she  was 

231 


LOT  BARROW 

going  to  do  with  her  house,  in  a  tone 
that  implied  that  she  knew  what  she 
would  do. 

"  Nothing/'  said  Lot  shyly. 

"  Why,  don't  you  know  what  nothing 
is  ?  "  interposed  Mr.  Child.  "  A  footless 
stocking  without  a  leg !  ':  Mrs.  Child 
laughed  with  her  ever-ready  appreciation 
of  her  husband.  Jennie  did  not  smile. 
She  waited  for  silence  with  visible  patience, 
and  then  said  with  solemn  emphasis  to  Lot : 

"  Why  don't  you  let  your  bedrooms  and 
sitting-room^  and  supply  attendance  ?  " 

Lot  had  been  afraid  all  this  time  of 
appearing  foolish  in  Jennie's  competent  eyes, 
and  of  being  considered  unworthy  of  owning 
a  house  at  all.  She  was  therefore  rather 
proud  and  relieved  to  be  able  to  close  with 
Jennie  on  this  point. 

"  Didn't  I  say  to  you,  Mrs.  Child,  that 
I  might  take  a  lodger  ?  "  she  asked  eagerly. 
"  I  thought  about  it,  anyway.  I  did, 
really,  Jennie — before  you  ever  came  here 
or  spoke  a  word." 

Jennie  did  not  look  exactly  incredulous, 
but  as  though  she  reserved  the  right  to 
believe  that  statement  or  not,  just  as  she 
liked.  She  proceeded  to  business. 

"  How  many  bedrooms  ?  ': 

"  Four,"    stammered    Lot,    in    a    panic 

232 


lest   she   should   not   answer   correctly   or 
promptly  enough. 

"  Well,"  said  Jennie,  "  you've  only  to 
take  the  trouble,  and  you  could  be  let  right 
through  the  summer  months." 

"  There's  one  lodger  you  could  send  her, 
eh,  mother  ?  "  said  Mr.  Child.  "  What 
about  Mrs.  Schneider  and  the  little  imp  ? 
We  might  give  up  our  claim  for  a  con- 
sideration." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Jennie ;  "I'm  not 
saying  that  you  could  do  it  singlehanded. 
You'd  want  a  partner — somebod}^  who'd 
help  you  with  the  work  and  keep  you 
company." 

Again  Lot  glanced  involuntarily  at 
Humphrey. 

"  I  don't  know  who  that  would  be,"  she 
said  gently. 

"  It  would  be  very  lonely  for  two  girls," 
said  Humphrey,  "  or  else  I'd  say  it  ought 
to  be  Jennie." 

Jennie  now  assumed  a  slight  air  of 
becoming  embarrassment.  She  looked  at 
the  floor  in  silence,  so  that  it  became  neces- 
sary to  say  something  more. 

"  Jennie  !     Would  you  ?  "  said  Lot. 

"  I  couldn't  say,"  said  Jennie  primly. 
"It's  so  sudden ;  I  should  have  to  think 
it  over." 

233 


LOT  BARROW 

Lot,  who  was  absurdly  impressed  by 
Jennie's  finished  manners,  said  :  "  Thank 
you  for  saying  you  will  think  it  over, 
Jennie.  Mind  you  don't  forget." 

"  Don't  mention  it,"  said  Jennie.  "  The 
pleasure's  mine." 

"  Put  on  the  kettle,  Lot,"  said  Mrs. 
Child.  "  Well,  I've  done  my  best  to  train 
both  you  two  girls — or  else  I  should  be  sorry 
for  the  lodgers  you  looked  after." 

Later,  when  Mr.  Child  lifted  off  the 
kettle,  to  pour  boiling  water  on  the  home- 
made black-currant  syrup,  he  said :  "  Phew  ! 
ain't  that  h-o-t  warm  ? "  And  he  did 
not  say  anything  so  light-hearted  the 
next  day  or  the  next. 


234 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-SIX :  BY  THE 
OCEAN 

MR.  BRAVERY  was  married  at  the 
end  of  October.  Though  no  one 
would  have  admitted  it,  this  hasty  marriage 
was  a  kind  of  dash  to  take  Marjorie  while 
she  was  in  fairly  good  health.  Her  health 
was  very  precarious  ;  it  was  known  that 
she  had  her  good  and  her  bad  times.  On 
this  subject  she  herself  always  preserved 
a  curious  silence.  And  so,  though  many 
reasons  were  mentioned  in  favour  of  a 
quick  marriage,  the  real  reason  remained 
unspoken. 

They  were  married  quietly  in  London, 
and  dwelt  in  no  fixed  place.  The  husband 
determined  to  seek  out  the  best  things  of 
the  earth  for  his  wife  ;  London  had  gifts 
for  her  of  music  and  art  and  friends  ;  but 
the  sea  had  the  freshest  breezes ;  and  she 
loved  the  country.  They  would  be  free  to 
wander. 

After  a  few  weeks  of  married  life  they 
chanced  to  be  by  the  sea  on  the  south  coast. 
On  a  quiet  afternoon  they  walked  close  to 
the  ocean  on  a  pavement  which  ran  for 

235 


LOT  BARROW 

a  mile  or  two  outside  the  little  town.  Two 
or  three  feet  below  them  on  one  side  was 
the  stony  beach  ;  on  the  other  side  a  long, 
high  bank.  The  paved  walk  went  away 
very  straight  in  front  of  them,  glimmering 
in  the  last  daylight,  until  it  was  a  point 
in  the  distance.  There  were  occasional 
seats,  but  everything  was  empty  now  ;  it 
was  the  tea-hour,  which  the  self-respecting 
seaside  visitor  does  not  neglect. 

Electric  lights  were  lit,  and  were  exquisite 
against  the  still-bright  sky.  They  were 
widely  placed  here  where  the  two  walked, 
but  in  that  long  perspective  in  front  they 
grew  closer  and  closer  until  they  touched. 
Is  anyone  reminded  of  what  that  can  be 
— that  white  electric  light,  and  the  blue- 
grey  sky  and  atmosphere  ?  There  is  a 
drawing  by  Steinlen. 

"  Look,  darling,  far  over  there,  and  you 
will  see  a  sail,"  said  Mr.  Bravery. 

"  I  shall  never  find  it,"  said  Marjorie 
lazily,  after  a  few  moments. 

But  he  liked  her  to  see  everything  that 
he  saw.  "  Yes,  yes,  you  will.  Now,  stand 
behind  me  and  follow  the  line  of  my  arm." 

"  Has  it  got  a  light  ?  Oh,  I  see  it,"  said 
Marjorie. 

"  No,  no  light,"  said  Mr.  Bravery.  "  This 
is  pure  municipal  extravagance." 

236 


BY  THE  OCEAN 

"*  I  like  pure  municipal  extravagance. 
Ah,  but  look,"  she  cried,  as  they  watched 
the  distant  ship,  "  a  little  light  has  suddenly 
come  !  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  and  now  I  see  others." 

She  turned  to  him  with  a  sudden  impulse. 

"  You  know  now  that  there  is  happi- 
ness ?  " 

"  Oh,  my  darling  !  "  he  said,  pained  that 
that  should  have  to  be  asked.  "  Oh,  my 
darling  !  Do  I  know  it !  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said  simply,  "  I  know  you 
do."  She  had  a  way  of  quietly  putting 
emotion  aside.  Now  she  spoke  of  her 
aunt.  "  Raymond,  when  do  you  think 
she  will  consider  it  right  to  come  and  stay 
with  us  ?  " 

"  It's  hard  to  say,  my  dear.  Of  course, 
we're  dealing  with  someone  rather  nice. 
Do  you  remember,  darling,  when  she 
thought  I  wanted  to  be  quiet  because  I  was 
working,  how  hard  it  was  to  drag  a  brief, 
time-saving  Yes  or  No  from  her  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  remember  that." 

"  Well,  this  is  rather  the  same  kind  of 
thing,  isn't  it  ?  I  tell  you  what,  Marjorie. 
She  won't  come  near  us  until  we  may 
safely  be  said  to  be  finished  with  romance." 

"  Oh  ;  then  her  coming  will  be  a  sign 
that  we've  finished  with  it." 

237 


LOT  BARROW 

"So  we  shall  know,"  he  said,  smiling. 

"  We'll  have  to  go  to  her,  that's  all  about 
it,"  said  Marjorie.  "  Because  of  course 
she's  dying  to  see  us." 

They  turned  and  walked  slowly  back,  for 
Marjorie  looked  tired.  They  had  rooms 
in  a  little  strong  house,  not  far  out  of  the 
reach  of  the  waves ;  they  held  hands  as  they 
walked.  They  both  thought  of  their  friends 
at  Wiggonholt  Farm  with  some  sadness,  for 
they  had  heard  bad  news  from  there.  Mrs. 
Child  had  written  to  report  a  disastrous 
loss  of  money.  She  always  wrote  with 
dignity.  "  I  am  sorry  for  my  husband," 
she  had  said,  "  but  when  I  think  that  some 
women  lose  their  husbands  or  their  sons, 
I  don't  feel  very  badly  about  it." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  them  all  again," 
said  Marjorie.  "  I  should  like  to  see  Lot." 

"  We  are  not  far  away,"  said  Mr.  Bravery ; 
"  we  will  go  for  a  few  days  when  we  leave 
here." 

He  opened  the  door  of  a  little  house  on 
which  was  written  what  Marjorie  had  called 
the  unexpected  name  of  "  Sea  View."  They 
found  their  way  through  the  dark  passage 
into  the  dark  bedroom.  Mr.  Bravery  felt 
about  for  some  moments  for  the  matches. 

"  I  think  she  hides  them  on  purpose," 
he  said. 

238 


BY  THE   OCEAN 

But  Marjorie  did  not  answer. 

"  Will  you  ask  her  not  to  hide  them  on 
purpose,  darling  ?  "  He  put  his  hand  on 
the  matches,  and  just  then  he  wondered 
that  Marjorie  had  nothing  to  say. 

"  Are  you  all  right,  Marjorie  ?  "  he  asked 
sharply. 

She  said  :  "I  think  so,"  in  so  strained  a 
voice  that  he  had  a  moment's  agony  of 
mind  until  he  had  struck  the  light  and 
could  look  at  her.  Then  he  saw  her  sitting 
down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  still  the  same, 
still  his  Marjorie,  only  very  pale. 

He  helped  her  to  her  bed.  As  she  lay 
there  she  said : 

"  I  have  had  no  pain  like  this  for  months. 
Don't  be  anxious,  Raymond.  We  know 
all  about  it,  my  doctor  and  I.  Do  I  look 
very  bad  ?  Well,  I  feel  bad,  but — why, 
my  dear,  I  may  live  until  I'm  eighty." 

"  Yes,  you  will,  you  will,"  he  cried  madly, 
and  buried  his  head  at  her  feet. 

She  told  him  what  to  do  for  her,  and  he 
insisted  on  fetching  the  doctor.  The  doctor 
came  and  went,  and  the  hours  passed  until 
midnight.  She  had  lain  still  on  her  bed. 
Her  pain  was  great,  but  she  spoke  to  him 
now  and  then.  She  seemed  to  be  a  little 
embarrassed  in  her  pain,  as  if  she  had  been 
discovered  with  a  surreptitious  lover.  She 

239 


LOT  BARROW 

said  :  "I  shall  be  quite  all  right  in  the 
morning  "  (as  if  she  were  promising  to  be 
good),  "  but  I  think  we  will  go  to  London 
to-morrow."  It  was  a  fact  that  when  the 
morning  came  she  had  recovered,  but  now 
when  she  said  that  would  be  so,  he  felt 
nothing  but  incredulous  despair.  He 
thought  those  were  words  of  false  comfort. 
He  felt  he  was  face  to  face,  as  he  had  been 
before  in  his  life,  with  inevitable,  un- 
avoidable calamity. 

At  midnight  she  appeared  to  be  in  an 
extremity  of  pain.  Mr.  Bravery  knew 
what  to  do.  He  poured  some  fluid  from  a 
small  bottle,  and  took  the  glass  to  her. 
She  looked  at  him  with  her  strange  eyes. 
He  raised  her  head,  and  she  moaned.  As 
he  put  the  glass  to  her  lips  he  had  a  sub- 
conscious memory  of  the  same  action  so 
often  performed  before,  when  he  stood  by 
his  mother's  bedside. 

Once  more,  then,  he  was  confronted  with 
the  unendurable,  and  what  was  he  to  do  ? 
Allowing  that  he  had  an  acute  sensibility 
to  pain,  and  that  he  loved,  it  is  clear  that 
he  must  somehow  or  somewhere  find  an 
allaying  thought,  or  else  this  spectacle  of 
the  loved  one  suffering  meant  madness  for 
his  brain. 

He  was  still  a  man  of  weak  faith.     The 

240 


BY   THE  OCEAN 

faith  his  happiness  had  brought  him  was 
untried.  Now  it  did  not  stand  the  trial. 
As  he  stood  beside  her,  his  look  hardly 
changed,  but  there  flowed  into  his  being 
something  that  was  alleviation,  like  a 
stream  that  numbed  with  coldness. 

Marjorie  had  drunk. 

"  What  are  you  thinking,  Raymond  ?  " 
she  whispered. 

He  realised  in  a  moment  that  his  guardian 
angel  was  not  satisfied. 

"  Not  now,  darling,"  he  said.  "  If  I  must 
tell  you  my  thoughts,  let  me  tell  you  later." 
He  was  like  a  man  who  is  overwhelmed 
with  shame  to  be  discovered  by  a  friend 
in  a  drug-habit,  but  who  in  the  midst  of 
his  shame  secretly  continues  to  satisfy  his 
craving.  He  was  ashamed  that  his  angel 
should  have  seen  into  his  mind,  but  he 
could  not  banish  that  icy,  numbing  stream 
— he  could  not  yet.  It  was  so  merciful. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Marjorie.  "  Later, 
when  it  is  light." 

She  was  soon  asleep.  Mr.  Bravery 
watched  her  with  amazement  as  it  dawned 
on  him  how  peaceful  her  slumber  was.  To 
happiness  at  any  rate  he  was  now  no  stran- 
ger, and  he  took  this  fresh  realisation  of  it 
home  to  his  heart,  and  spurned  the  deadly 
comfort  he  had  allowed  there.  If  all 

241  B 


LOT  BARROW 

things  were  unreal,  then  this  happiness 
and  love  of  his  were  unreal.  But  they  were 
real,  as  he  knew.  Never  again  should  a 
thought  of  his  wrong  their  substantiality. 

Marjorie  woke  at  dawn. 

"  Pull  up  the  blind,  Raymond  dear,  and 
put  out  the  light,"  she  said. 

He  obeyed.  He  pulled  up  the  blind  and 
saw  the  great  grey  sea.  Cold,  new  light 
came  into  the  room,  and  they  heard  the 
grinding  of  the  stony  beach.  He  stood 
by  the  bed. 

"  I  have  been  asleep,"  she  said.  "It  is 
all  gone.  Kiss  me." 

"  Marjorie,"  he  said,  not  stooping  to  her, 
"  I  wish  to  God  I  was  not  ashamed  before 
you." 

'  Tell  me  what  you  thought,"  she  said. 
He  knew  that  she  was  trying  to  be  gentle. 

"  I  thought — I  thought .  There  is 

a  dreadful  phrase,  Marjorie,  that  comes 
into  my  mind.  It  seems  to  make  things 
possible  for  me.  At  least,  it  has  in  the  past, 
but  it  never  will  again.  No,  never — I 
swear  that.  I  said,  Marjorie  :  '  Thank 
God,  it  doesn't  really  matter '  !  Can  you 
forgive  me  ?  Can  you  kiss  me  ?  Because 
I  know  I  was  wrong." 

She  turned  away  her  head,  with  wounded 
angry  tears,  though  even  then  she  felt  the 

242 


BY  THE  OCEAN 

forgiveness  springing  up  in  her  heart. 
She  was  not  perfect,  and  for  a  few  moments 
she  did  not  welcome  that  forgiveness. 

"  My  life  !  "  he  said,  as  he  still  stood  a 
little  way  from  the  bed.  "  I  have  sworn 
it  can  never  be  again." 

She  looked  at  his  face,  damp  and  wan  with 
conflict  and  remorse.  And  now  she  suddenly 
discovered  her  forgiveness  which,  in  spite 
of  her  disregard  of  it,  had  grown  into 
something  very  big  and  perfect. 


243 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-SEVEN :  THE 
HOSTESS 

IT  was  a  bitter  east-wind-day  when 
Mr.  Bravery  and  his  wife  came  once 
more  to  Wiggonholt  Farm.  They  stepped 
out  of  the  train  on  to  the  gravel  platform 
in  a  deep  winter  darkness,  which  the  sparse 
station-lamps  did  not  pretend  to  cope  with. 
The  two  or  three  figures  on  the  platform 
were  all  familiar  ; — there  was  the  old  station 
master,  whose  friendship  you  can  only 
purchase  with  a  coin  ;  the  bent  and  de- 
liberate porter,  from  whom  no  coin  could 
purchase  speed  ;  there  was  Mr.  Green  of 
the  'bus,  thoroughly  fortified  inside  against 
the  cold,  eager  for  passengers,  and  not 
scorning  the  twopenny  parcels ;  but  there 
was  no  one  to  meet  them  from  the  farm. 
This  was  soon  explained. 

There  was  no  moon  and  not  a  single  star. 
Away  to  the  east  there  was  a  suffused  glow 
in  the  sky  over  Lewington.  They  were  in 
a  great  darkness,  when  the  feeble  station 
lights  had  been  left  behind.  The  'bus 
floundered  slowly  along  on  the  hard  road 
for  two  and  a  half  miles,  and  stopped  at  the 

244 


THE  HOSTESS 

Farm.  In  the  passage  window  there  stood 
a  lamp,  and  Lot's  face  peered  out  beside  it. 
They  saw  her  face  distinctly,  with  the 
lamp-light  on  it ;  it  was  of  an  almost 
astonishing  beauty  ; — unconscious,  eager, 
innocent,  serious  looks  all  helped  to  make 
up  the  haunting  beauty  of  that  face  in  the 
window.  They  were  both  involuntarily 
smiling  to  her  there,  long  before  she  could 
see  their  faces  in  her  dark  outlook. 

As  soon  as  she  distinguished  them  she 
ran  to  the  door  and  opened  it. 

"  I  thought  I'd  watch  out,"  she  said. 
"  Mrs.  Child's  in  trouble,  because  Mr. 
Child's  bad." 

She  led  them  into  the  old  sitting-room. 
By  her  manner  and  actions  she  seemed  to 
be  a  more  responsible  person  in  the  house- 
hold than  she  used  to  be — a  kind  of  hostess. 
She  put  a  fresh  log  on  the  glowing  fire,  and 
suggested  to  Marjorie  that  she  should  take 
off  her  coat.  In  answer  to  their  questions 
she  told  them  more  of  Mr.  Child.  He  had 
been  ill  only  two  days,  and  they  thought 
he  would  be  better  very  soon.  Only  to- 
night he  did  not  seem  so  well. 

"  Dr.  Lund  says  it's  pneumonia  now," 
said  Lot.  She  spoke  of  Mr.  Child's  illness 
in  a  very  business-like  way.  Her  own 
troubles  had  always  been  so  vital  to  her 

245 


LOT  BARROW 

that  she  made  a  natural  distinction  between 
them  and  other  people's  troubles,  for  which 
she  had  a  kind  of  recipe  of  sympathy.  It 
was  a  good  practical  sympathy  which  she 
had  for  other  people's  woes  ;  but  by  her 
own  she  was  struck  down. 

"  You  know  what  it  is,"  she  said  know- 
ingly, screwing  up  her  eyes  a  little,  in  a  con- 
fidential way  she  had,  and  nodding  her  head; 
"it's  all  this  loss  and  trouble  they've  had 
that's  at  the  bottom  of  it.  That's  what 
brought  on  the  pneumonia,  if  you  ask  me." 

Of  course  Mr.  Bravery  had  certain  know- 
ledge about  germs  which  prevented  him 
from  agreeing  with  all  his  heart. 

"  And  I  have  to  thank  you,  sir,"  Lot  went 
on,  "  for  the  present  you  gave  me.  I  never 
thought  anyone  would  give  me  anything 
like  that.  I'm  very  grateful."  That  very 
air  of  consequence  which  had  been  gradually 
growing  upon  her  since  she  had  become  the 
possessor  of  property  helped  now  to  make 
her  brief  and  self-possessed  in  her  thanks. 

She  was  self-possessed — surprisingly  so. 
Only,  hushed  away,  out  of  sight  and 
sound,  there  was  the  pain  of  her  loss. 
Had  she  let  that  pain  find  utterance  she 
would  have  bemoaned  her  fate  ;  that  which 
seemed  to  her  so  desirable,  and  to  which 
she  had  once  been  so  near,  was  now  removed 

246 


THE  HOSTESS 

from  her.  But  marriage  seemed  to  have 
removed  him  so  effectually  and  so  far  that 
the  pain  was  kept  under ;  and  she  looked 
at  Mr.  Bravery  with  interest,  feeling  and 
admiration,  but  with  a  subsided  love. 

Mrs.  Child  came  into  the  sitting-room. 

"  Humphrey's  with  his  father,"  she  said, 
in  a  hurried,  low  voice.  "  I  just  came  down 
to  see  if  you  were  all  right.  Lot  will  do 
what  she  can  for  you.  To-morrow  I  hope 
I  shall  be  able  to  make  you  more  comfort- 
able. No,  he's  not  better  yet — I  couldn't 
say  he  is.  But  he'll  start  turning  the 
corner  now  any  time.  I've  never  had  him 
quite  like  this  before."  She  passed  her 
hand  over  her  tired  eyes.  "  It  seems  as  if 
we've  been  unlucky,  doesn't  it  ?  "  she  said. 

Marjorie  went  to  her  side,  and  put  an 
arm  round  her. 

"  Don't  trouble  about  us,  my  dear,"  she 
said  tenderly.  "  Forget  that  we  are  here 
until  we  can  all  be  happy  together  again. 
Raymond,  dear,  help  Mrs.  Child  upstairs  ; 
she  is  tired  and  weak." 

"  /  will,"  said  Lot.  "  I  get  you  up  in 
no  time,  don't  I,  Mrs.  Child  ?  I  think 
I'd  better,  sir ;  she's  used  to  me."  And 
indeed  Mrs.  Child  seemed  to  submit  to 
Lot's  strong  arm  with  a  kind  of  familiar 
dependence. 

247 


LOT  BARROW 

Lot  soon  came  again  and  knocked  at  the 
door. 

"  I'll  do  my  best  to  make  your  dinner  nice 
for  you,"  she  said,  and  her  new  responsible 
manner  was  relieved  by  a  little  diffident 
smile.  "  I  think  I  know  what  you  like. 
I  ought  to,  oughtn't  I  ? "  she  laughed. 
"It's  not  as  if  I  was  the  strange  girl  that 
will  soon  be  here." 

"  Why,  you're  not  leaving  Mrs.  Child, 
are  you,  Lot  ?  "  said  Marjorie. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Lot.  "  I  gave  Mrs. 
Child  a  month's  notice  the  fifteenth  of 
October.  I'm  only  staying  on  to  oblige 
her,  you  know."  That  miracle  had  come 
to  pass  ! 

"  I  can  hardly  think  of  the  farm  without 
you,  Lot,"  said  Marjorie.  "  What  are  you 
going  to  do  ?  " 

"  You  seem  to  forget,  Marjorie,"  said 
Mr.  Bravery,  smiling,  "  that  Lot  can  retire 
to  her  own  mansion." 

"  Aren't  men  clever  ?  "  said  Marjorie, 
addressing  Lot.  "  Why,  what  does  he 
think  you  would  do  there  ?  " 

"  Well,  he  isn't  so  very  far  wrong,"  said 
Lot,  half -apologetically,  because  Marjorie 
was  so  attractive  to  her,  and  she  did  not 
understand  that  it  would  not  upset  Marjorie 
in  the  very  least  to  be  put  in  the  wrong. 

248 


THE  HOSTESS 

"  There  was  some  talk  of  me  and  Jennie 
Parker  settling  down  there  at  Memory 
Cottage  and  taking  lodgers.  Jennie  says 
people  are  wild  to  get  nice  comfortable 
rooms  in  the  summer-time.  She's  been 
in  London." 

"  Oh,  I  think  it  is  the  most  excellent 
idea,"  said  Marjorie  with  enthusiasm. 
"  Raymond,  think  of  occasional  week-ends 
there  in  the  winter.  Would  you  have  us, 
Lot?" 

"  I  should  think  so  !  I  couldn't  do  it 
alone,  you  see.  And  Jennie  Parker  hap- 
pened to  have  left  her  last  place  and  come 
home.  So  I  asked  her  if  she'd  join  in,  and 
she  said  she  wouldn't  mind.  The  lady 
where  she  was  in  her  last  place  but  one 
said  she'd  come  for  Christmas,  so  that 
will  make  a  start.  And  Mrs.  Child  is 
always  going  to  recommend  us  when  she's 
full  up  herself.  Of  course  she'll  want 
everyone  she  can  get  now." 

"  Have    you    any    money    put    by  ? " 
asked  Marjorie. 

"Yes,"  said  Lot,  "a  little.  I  haven't 
had  much  to  spend  it  on." 

"  It  sounds  to  me  very  happy,"  said 
Marjorie. 

"  And  we  will  speak  of  it  and  help  to 
make  it  successful,"  said  Mr.  Bravery. 

249 


LOT  BARROW 

"  It's  all  owing  to  you,  sir,"  said  Lot 
gratefully.  And  turning  to  Marjorie  she 
said  :  "  And  you've  been  so  kind  to  me 
too  ;  you  always  speak  to  me  so  kindly." 

She  was  still  standing  by  the  door,  and 
she  looked  at  them  both  where  they  stood 
at  the  fire,  holding  out  their  hands  to  the 
heat.  Newly-lit  wood  hissed  noisily  there, 
and  foaming  drops  fell  lightly  on  the  hearth. 
They  both  had  their  faces  turned  to  Lot. 
She  looked  so  grand  as  she  stood  there, 
her  large,  strong  body  peculiarly  still.  Her 
hair  was  disarranged,  and  some  of  it  hung 
in  dark  strips  down  her  cheeks.  Her  eyes 
looked  very  dark  and  big. 

"  It'll  make  a  difference  if  I  can  think 
you'll  sometimes  be  there.  Because  of 
course  I  shall  feel  rather  lonely  sometimes, 
I  daresay.  But  this  doesn't  look  like 
getting  dinner,  does  it  ?  I  mustn't  starve 
you,  must  I  ?  "  she  said  facetiously. 

Later,  when  the  husband  and  wife  were 
going  to  bed,  and  they  wished  Lot  good- 
night, she  said  : 

"  I  shan't  be  going  to  bed ;  I'm  up  for 
the  night." 

A  little  look  of  shame  came  over  Mar jorie's 
face.  Mr.  Bravery  was  familiar  with  that 
look  now,  and  it  always  went  peculiarly  to 
his  heart.  It  came  because  she  beheld 

250 


THE  HOSTESS 

Lot  taking  on  herself  a  hardship  which  she 
herself  was  to  be  spared.  But  what  was 
touching  in  her  was  that  she  made  no 
comment  on  her  inability  to  be  of  use,  but 
continued  to  walk  upstairs  with  that  gentle 
little  guilty  look.  Mr.  Bravery  hurried  up 
the  dark  stairs  after  her,  and  took  her  in 
his  arms. 

Lot  went  into  the  kitchen. 

"  Humphrey,"  she  said  to  the  man  sit- 
ting idle  there,  "  we  must  keep  up  the  fire. 
I  am  going  to  cook  you  some  eggs  ;  you 
will  eat  them,  won't  you  ?  "  she  asked 
pleadingly. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Humphrey  heavily, 
"  don't  you  ask  me  to  eat  anything,  because 
I  couldn't  do  it.  You  go  to  bed,  Lot." 

"  I  won't  go  to  bed.  I'm  going  to  stay 
with  you,  Humphrey."  She  put  her  arm 
on  his  chair,  and  bent  her  head  down  and 
sideways  to  look  into  his  face.  "  Won't 
you  like  that  ?  " 

In  the  night  Mr.  Child  died. 


251 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-EIGHT:  BY  THE 
FIRE 

A  WEEK  later  there  was  a  day  of  cold 
incessant  rain,  which  fell  all  day  at 
that  pitch  generally  only  maintained  for  a 
shower.  However  much  we  may  be  rain- 
lovers,  this  is  a  gloomy  day. 

The  farm  was  in  semi-darkness ;  there 
was  little  enough  light  anywhere,  but  here 
some  of  the  blinds  had  never  been  pulled  up. 
Humphrey  was  alone.  His  aunt,  Mrs. 
Cattermole,  had  come  from  the  other  side 
of  the  county  for  his  father's  funeral,  and 
Mrs.  Child  had  been  prevailed  upon  to  go 
back  with  her  for  a  few  days.  Lot  had 
gone  to  stay  with  Jennie  and  Jennie's 
mother  in  the  village. 

Humphrey  had  been  out  since  early 
morning  in  his  waterproof  coat  and  hat 
and  boots,  looking  after  the  live  stock. 
That  was  his  only  duty  now — to  look  after 
the  stock  until  the  new  tenant  of  the  farm 
should  come  and  make  him  an  offer  for  all 
that  was  there.  He  had  half-expected  the 
purchaser  to  come  to-day,  but  the  weather 
had  no  doubt  put  him  off  his  ten  miles' 

252 


BY  THE  FIRE 

drive.  Still,  Humphrey,  as  he  sat  in  the 
kitchen,  felt  a  vague  expectancy  of  the 
sound  of  the  bell. 

It  was  twelve  o'clock,  and  twelve  o'clock 
looked  just  the  same  as  all  the  other  hours 
on  that  unvarying  day.  The  gloom  did 
not  even  lift  or  deepen,  and  the  rain  fell 
with  long,  extraordinary  precision  just  at 
the  very  climax  of  what  steady  rain  can  do. 
Humphrey  wished  this  twilight  was  the 
dusk  of  evening,  so  that  bed-time  might 
be  near,  and  the  chance  of  oblivion  until 
a  new  day. 

At  certain  times  it  seemed  to  Humphrey 
that  oblivion  was  the  best  thing  on  earth — 
even  such  oblivion  as  his  father's  in  his 
grave.  He  suffered  cruelly  from  impotent 
grief  on  account  of  his  separation  from  his 
father.  Now  that  he  could  no  longer  make 
amends,  that  cold  relationship  between 
them,  which  Humphrey  had  always  en- 
forced, seemed  to  him  a  most  damnable 
thing.  If  he  could  have  had  only  a  few 
hours  in  which  to  show  himself  different 
he  would  be  less  dreadful  to  himself.  It 
was  so  likely  that  his  father  had  not  realised 
or  had  not  fully  understood  his  tenderness 
at  the  end.  It  is  hard  to  face  life  with 
regrets  like  these.  Humphrey  had  been 
alone  for  two  days,  and  there  had  been 

253 


LOT  BARROW 

only  too  much  time  and  opportunity  for 
this  grief  to  fix  itself  on  his  heart,  without 
regard  to  any  other  thought. 

This  grief  was  also  excessively  bitter 
because  it  poisoned  what  would  otherwise 
have  been  a  deep  and  even  holy  joy. 

Humphrey  was  a  free  man.  What  re- 
mained of  the  lease  of  Wiggonholt  Farm 
had  been  easily  disposed  of.  And  though 
his  father  had  lost  money,  there  would  be 
enough  from  the  sale  of  the  stock  to  enable 
his  mother  to  live  comfortably  for  some 
time.  There  was  nothing  to  bind  Hum- 
phrey now  ;  he  knew  his  mother  would  be 
glad  for  him  to  go — to  go  and  fulfil  the 
desire  of  his  heart.  And  so  Humphrey 
knew  that  in  the  recesses  of  his  mind  there 
was  something  bright  and  glorious,  but  he 
could  not  stir  from  his  close,  overwhelming 
unhappiness. 

The  bell  sounded  its  uneasy  clang  over 
his  head,  and  he  got  up  and  went  to  the 
front  door.  Lot  stood  there,  looking  pale 
and  cold,  and  her  clothes  were  drenched 
with  rain.  He  pulled  her  in. 

"  Lot  Barrow  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  am 
glad  you  have  come." 

"  I  thought  I  would  come  and  look  after 
you  a  little  bit,"  said  Lot.  "  Has  Mr. 
Sykes  been  ?  " 

254 


BY  THE  FIRE 

"  No,  he's  never  been,"  said  Humphrey. 

"  Oh,  do  make  up  a  better  fire  than 
that,"  said  Lot,  as  they  came  into  the 
kitchen.  "  Because  that  would  never  dry 


me." 


She  took  off  her  things  ;  her  hair  had  got 
very  wet  under  her  little  hat,  and  she 
squeezed  it  in  her  fingers. 

"  There's  news  about  Jennie,"  she  said, 
while  Humphrey  put  on  sticks  and  coal. 
"  She's  had  a  letter  from  a  young  man  in 
London." 

"  What,  someone  who  wants  to  marry 
her  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that's  it.  She  never  thought  he 
would.  He  didn't  say  a  word  when  she 
came  away  ;  but  now  he's  written." 

"  And  what's  she  going  to  say  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he's  very  nicely  off,"  said  Lot. 
"  She  told  me  all  about  him  a  little  while 
ago,  for  a  dead  secret." 

"  Now,  Lot,  come  and  sit  down  here,  and 
put  your  feet  out."  He  knelt  down  and 
took  off  her  heavy  wet  shoes.  "  That 
rather  upsets  your  plan,  doesn't  it,  Lot  ?  " 

"  It  looks  as  if  it  would,  doesn't  it  ?  "  she 
said,  a  little  nervously.  ;c  I  suppose  I 
shall  have  to  find  somebody  else." 

"  I  hope  Jennie's  got  some  one  decent. 
There's  a  blaze  for  you,  Lot." 

255 


LOT  BARROW 

"  Yes,  but  I  came  to  look  after  you. 
I  want  to  get  you  a  good  dinner.  You 
look  so  thin  and  worn." 

"I'm  sick  to  death  of  myself,"  said 
Humphrey.  "  I  wonder  if  anyone  ever 
had  so  much  to  regret  as  I  have.  Lot, 
it's  dreadful  that  I  can  never  speak  to 
father  again,  never  make  it  up  to  him." 
He  was  kneeling  by  the  fire,  and  he  buried 
his  face  in  her  lap  in  his  grief. 

She  understood  him  at  once.  She  laid 
her  hand  on  his  hair,  and  stroked  it  with  a 
sweet,  suppressed  shyness. 

"  Why,  my  dear,  you  must  remember 
that  you  have  been  a  good  man,  and  have 
given  up  things." 

He  raised  his  head  and  looked  at  her. 
'  I  haven't  been  good,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,"    Lot   contradicted   him.     "  Just 
think.     You    have    given    up    things    you 
wanted  badly." 
'  Things  ?  ': 

"  Yes.  You  gave  up  going  to  sea. 
You  could  have  gone.  And  then,  you  know, 
for  another  thing,  you  gave  up  trying  to 
kiss  me,"  said  Lot,  blushing  deeply,"  though 
you  wanted  to  :  you  wouldn't  kiss  me  even 
if  I  let  you." 

The  blush  soon  vanished  from  her  cheek 
and  left  her  very  pale  again  when  she 

256 


BY  THE  FIRE 

realised  that  Humphrey  only  attended  to 
the  first  part  of  what  she  said. 

"  Don't  you  see  that  I  spoilt  it  all  for 
him  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  did  just  give  it 
up  because  I  had  to,  and  then  I  made  him 
pay  for  it.  That  isn't  goodness ;  that's 
wickedness." 

"  Oh,  but  he  knows  and  understands 
now,"  said  Lot,  so  eager  to  comfort  him. 
"  He  knows  you  are  sorry." 

"  I  don't  see  how  he  does,"  said 
Humphrey. 

"  Emily  he  does,  Humphrey,  and  he 
wants  you  not  to  grieve." 

He  looked  at  her  with  sudden  hope  in  his 
face.  "  He'd  only  worry,  if  he  was  here, 
to  see  me  grieving.  He  always  wanted  to 
see  me  happy.  Oh  Lot,  Lot,"  he  said, 
breaking  down  again,  "  if  only  I  had  just 
gone  down  to  the  Sheaves  with  him  the 
last  time  he  asked  me  !  But  I  didn't." 

"  There,  there  !  "  she  said,  soothingly. 
"  He  never  thought  one  half  so  hardly  of 
you  as  you  think  of  yourself  ;  he  knew  you 
were  disappointed.  He  wanted  to  see  you 
happy.  So  be  happy,  Humphrey." 

"  Yes,  I  will,"  he  said,  giving  her  his  rare 
smile.  He  felt  her  feet.  "  You  are  dry 
now,  Lot,  my  darling,  my  comforter.  Oh," 
he  said  suddenly,  as  he  jumped  to  his  feet, 

257  s 


LOT  BARROW 

"  there  is  happiness  ahead  for  me  then. 
At  last !  " 

Lot  sat  still  for  a  moment  by  the  fire, 
and  then  as  he  did  not  come  to  her  again 
or  say  anything  more,  she  got  up  to  get 
some  dinner  ready. 

While  the  meal  was  cooking  she  straight- 
ened the  kitchen  and  went  down  to  the  dairy 
to  see  the  condition  of  the  milkpans.  She 
and  Jennie  were  coming  the  next  day  to 
make  the  butter.  The  dairy  felt  damp  and 
cold,  and  she  was  glad  to  return  to  her  warm 
task  by  the  fire.  The  meal  was  soon  ready, 
and  she  called  Humphrey,  who,  under  the 
influence  of  some  excitement,  was  pacing 
restlessly  up  and  down. 

"  Isn't  it  gloomy  in  this  kitchen  ?  "  said 
Lot.  "  Don't  you  think  so  ?  Let's  have 
one  candle  on  the  table,  so  that  we  can  see. 
Are  you  hungry  ?  Take  a  good  piece  of 
bread  with  it.  I've  got  some  more  broth 
on  the  fire  when  you  want  it."  Suddenly 
she  looked  at  him  with  an  extraordinarily 
brilliant  yet  softened  look  from  her  won- 
derful eyes.  She  had  put  the  candle  near 
her  face.  "  Isn't  it  nice  together  ?  "  she 
said. 

"  Yes,  Lot,"  he  said,  looking  at  her  and 
looking  away  again.  "  Yes,  it  is,"  he 
sighed. 

258 


BY  THE  FIRE 

"  Oh,  dear,  my  hair  is  still  damp,"  she 
said.  "  Look  at  these  bits  all  round  here." 
"  I  should  like  to  see  you  always  in  front 
of  me  just  like  that,"  said  Humphrey. 
"  I  shall  miss  you  so.  I  shall  be  thinking 
of  you." 

Lot  faltered  hi  the  business  of  feeding 
herself,  but  Humphrey  continued  his  meal, 
quietly  and  gravely,  but  certainly  with 
appetite.  Lot  put  food  into  her  mouth, 
but  once  there  it  was  extraordinarily  hard 
to  dispose  of.  She  stooped  tremblingly 
over  her  plate,  and  at  last  got  up  and  went 
to  the  fire.  When  Humphrey  had  stopped 
eating  she  said : 

"  Do  you  mean  you're  going  away  ?  " 
"  Yes,  Lot ;    I'm  going  away  to  sea." 
"  Is  that  what  you  want  most  in  the 
world  ?  " 

"  You  know  how  I've  wanted  it." 
"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  know.     But  it  seems 
as  if  it  can't  be  true  that  you  want  it  more 
than  anything  else." 

"  There's  only  you  that  I  want  besides, 
and  you  don't  want  me,  my  darling.  And 
oh,  Lot,  it's  so  fine  to  be  going  !  Do  you 
know,  I've  never  gone  to  bed  at  night 
without  thinking  of  it,  and  I've  never  got 
up  in  the  morning  without  thinking  of  it. 
And  the  dreams  I've  had  !  It  will  always 

259 


LOT  BARROW 

seem  a  bit  strange  to  me  on  board  ship,  I 
daresay,  because  of  all  the  dreams  I've  had. 
I  shan't  be  able  to  forget  them  ;  everything 
will  keep  reminding  me  ;  and  everything 
will  be  a  little  different.  Good  Lord, 
what  a  joke  !  "  He  gave  a  sudden  happy 
shout  of  laughter,  and  Lot,  to  her  own 
amazement,  laughed,  too,  on  the  same  note 
— sudden,  unexplained,  heroic  laughter,  as 
brave  and  as  tender  as  anything  on  earth. 

Soon  Humphrey  was  grave  again.  "  But 
there's  you,"  he  said.  "  There's  you  and 
mother  both  to  see  settled  first.  What 
will  happen  to  you,  Lot,  now  that  Jennie 
is  going  to  get  married  ?  " 

"  We  must  think,"  said  Lot.  She  clasped 
her  hands  in  front,  and  bent  her  head  a  little 
on  one  side  in  a  thinking  attitude,  and  by 
the  emphasis  of  her  voice  and  gesture  she 
meant  to  atone  for  and  conceal  some  lack 
of  concentration  in  her  distracted  mind. 
"  Yes,"  she  repeated,  "  we  must  think, 
mustn't  we  ?  " 

It  was  so  clear  to  her  now  that  for  his 
true  happiness  Humphrey  must  go  to  sea, 
though  she  had  come  with  her  head  full  of  a 
different  conception.  She  saw  that  it  sad- 
dened him  to  think  of  leaving  her — yes, 
she  was  not  blind  to  that ;  she  saw  just 
how  much  he  was  happy,  and  just  how 

260 


much  he  was  sad.  He  was  far,  far  happier 
than  he  was  sad. 

"  Can't  you  think  of  someone  you  would 
like  to  try  and  make  happy,  and  have  near 
you  ?  "  he  asked,  a  little  wistfully. 

Her  heart  leapt  to  hear  him ;  she 
whispered  :  "  Who  ?  " 

"  Mother." 

"  Oh.  Why,  of  course.  Would  she 
come  ?  " 

"  That's  what  I'd  like.  For  you  both. 
For  you  to  be  at  the  Cottage  together. 
Would  you  do  that,  Lot  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  should  be  glad  if  she  was 
to  come,"  said  Lot. 

When  Lot  had  cleared  away  the  dinner 
things  Humphrey  said : 

"  Don't  go  yet,  Lot.  Wait  a  bit,  and  I'll 
walk  with  you.  I  must  stay  here  until 
dark  so  that  there's  no  chance  of  Mr.  Sykes 
coming." 

"All  right,  I'll  wait,"  said  Lot.  She 
went  and  lay  back  in  Mrs.  Child's  chair. 
Humphrey  got  out  some  paper  and  pen 
and  ink,  and  sat  down  to  write  a  letter  in 
connexion  with  his  future  career.  He  was 
a  laborious  writer,  and  for  a  long  time  Lot 
lay  and  listened  to  the  sound  his  pen  made. 
It  was  dusk,  and  he  had  lit  the  lamp,  but 
Lot  lay  with  her  back  to  it,  and  her  face  in 

261 


LOT  BARROW 

shadow.  Tiredness  crept  on  her  with  such 
a  swift  advance  that  there  was  not  even 
time  or  space  for  an  uneasy  thought  to 
start  her  into  wakefulness.  While  Hum- 
phrey wrote  his  letter  Lot  fell  asleep. 


262 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-NINE:  THE 
LAMP  GOES  OUT 

LOT  woke  because  the  lamp  went  out, 
with  the  usual  salute  of  tiny  explosive 
splutters.  It  was  not  a  loud  noise,  but  a 
noise  that  had  always  been  associated  with 
a  certain  amount  of  emotion,  because  when 
in  past  days  the  lamp  had  gone  out,  Lot 
was  the  guilty  party,  the  unwise  virgin; 
and  those  little  splutters  were  connected 
with  upbraiding  and  shame  and  anger — 
important  things  of  that  kind.  The  noise 
that  has  at  one  time  produced  some  emotion 
in  us  is  the  noise  that  will  wake  us  for 
certain. 

Her  sleep  had  been  most  uneasy.  It  had 
been  one  long  foreboding  of  her  parting 
with  Humphrey.  But  that  parting  had 
seemed  in  dreams  even  far  more  ghastly 
than  it  had  seemed  in  life.  But  not 
ghastly  in  advance  of  truth :  the  very 
essence  of  that  horror,  which  lasted  after 
her  awakening,  was  its  truth,  recognisable, 
unveiled.  There  was  nothing  to  cast  away 
when  she  woke  up,  no  relief  to  be  had ; 
her  sleep  had  been  an  awakening.  She 

263 


LOT  BARROW 

could  not  say  :  "It  was  only  a  dream," 
and  calmly  take  up  with  truth  again. 

She  had  her  own  simple  powers  of  self- 
sacrifice,  which  came  to  her  in  the  form  of 
sudden  inspiration  at  times  of  crisis.  On 
such  an  impulse  she  had  bravely  taken  her 
blow  from  Mr.  Bravery  and  run  like 
lightning  to  destroy  the  letter  to  Mrs. 
Child.  On  another  such  impulse  she  had 
laughed  with  Humphrey  in  his  joy  because 
he  was  at  last  to  be  a  sailor.  But  that 
impulse  vanished  now  before  her  present 
love  and  need.  Duty  and  sacrifice  might 
have  a  hundred  suggestions  to  make,  but 
love  was  going  to  make  her  call  on  him 
to  stay. 

Humphrey  had  not  stirred  when  the  lamp 
went  out.  His  letter  was  important  to 
him.  Perhaps  he  had  been  doubtful  about 
the  turn  of  a  phrase,  and  continued  quietly 
to  meditate.  Or  there  was  even  the  chance 
that  the  very  decisiveness  of  his  action 
of  writing  had  made  him  pause  and  wonder. 
Perhaps  as  he  sat  there  still  in  the  dark 
he  discovered  that  he  could  not  leave  her, 
and  resolved  to  stay  and  win  her. 

Ah,  to  be  near  him  if  such  a  thought  were 
in  his  mind  !  To  be  near  him  and  holding 
his  hand,  to  drive  the  thought  deeper  home 
and  not  allow  it  to  leave  him  !  If  only 

264 


THE  LAMP  GOES  OUT 

she  could  once  catch  him  a  little  alienated 
from  his  beloved  sea,  a  little  unfaithful  to 
that  love,  she  could  then  surely  have  him 
and  hold  him  for  good. 

She  slid  down  from  her  chair.  There 
were  only  two  or  three  sparks  left  in  the 
fireplace,  and  the  room  was  quite  dark. 
She  slid  down  on  to  the  floor.  Humphrey 
was  not  far  off — only  just  on  the  other  side 
of  the  table.  Lot  was  on  her  knees,  and 
on  them  she  moved  along,  feeling  her  way 
with  her  hands  on  the  edge  of  the  table. 

With  her,  great  hope  and  joy  had  hitherto 
always  been  the  forerunners  of  disaster ; 
joy  was  a  pinnacle  surrounded  by  abysmal 
depths.  She  did  not  think  of  it  so,  but  she 
must  involuntarily,  in  the  midst  of  hope, 
have  faint  misgivings,  because  experience 
dictated  them.  And,  not  being  free  from 
a  kind  of  unconscious  superstition,  she 
must  even  feel  a  faint  guilt,  as  if  joy  were 
in  itself  an  evil  which  providence  revenged. 

But  nothing  could  quiet  the  hope  which 
made  her  heart  beat  quickly  as  she  crept 
along.  Unless  he  actually  thrust  her  away, 
unless  he  actually  spurned  her,  she  was  safe. 
And  he  would  not  spurn  her,  he  could  not 
— she  would  take  his  hand  so  lovingly  and 
imploringly. 

In  the  darkness  of  that  room  there  was 

265 


LOT  BARROW 

concealed  a  great  loveliness,  and  that  was 
Lot's  face  as  she  came  to  Humphrey's  chair. 
Love,  and  humility,  and  tenderness,  and  the 
desire  to  be  fair,  were  all  there  in  her  face 
— beauties  if  only  they  could  be  shone  upon, 
like  glowing  yellow  flowers  in  a  field  at 
night.  She  touched  the  chair,  and  felt  for 
his  hand. 

There  are  moments  of  such  astonishment 
that  we  break  a  life-long  habit  of  thought, 
and  our  brains  are  like  a  heart  that  fails 
to  beat.  No  hand  was  there,  no  knee,  no 
face,  no  shoulder,  no  Humphrey.  She 
started  to  feel  so  cautiously,  and  then  madly 
swept  her  arm  about  the  chair.  She  felt 
betrayed,  abandoned  ;  and  she  called  to  him 
in  a  voice  of  fear  ;  but  there  was  no  answer. 
She  got  up  quickly,  beginning  to  cry  with 
little  shuddering  sobs ;  she  could  not  stay 
in  that  room,  because  she  was  frightened, 
and  she  went  out  as  fast  as  the  darkness 
would  allow,  like  a  trotting,  whimpering 
child.  As  she  went  she  called  Humphrey's 
name  every  now  and  then  in  a  voice  that 
was  angry,  and  grew  more  and  more  angry, 
because,  with  her,  fear  was  a  great  anger 
and  a  great  indignation.  She  found  her 
way  to  the  back-door,  which  was  ajar, 
and  passed  out  into  the  yard.  The  rain 
was  pouring  down  just  at  the  same  pitch 

266 


as  when  she  had  walked  to  the  Farm  in 
the  morning,  but  now  perhaps  it  fell  a 
little  more  silently,  because  the  earth  was 
no  longer  crisp,  but  sodden,  to  receive  it. 

Lot  heard  Humphrey's  voice  in  the  road 
beyond  the  yard-door.  With  a  sudden 
cheerful  shout  he  hailed  the  postman  who 
was  coming  by  on  his  bicycle.  By  the 
passing  of  the  postman  Lot  knew  that  the 
time  was  six  o'clock :  a  rare,  absolute 
ignorance  of  the  time  had  been  contributing 
to  her  alarm.  She  had  almost  felt  that 
she  might  have  been  sleeping  there  for  days  ; 
and  Humphrey  might  be  far  away,  or 
indifferent,  or  dead  !  When  she  heard 
Humphrey  shout,  she  ceased  her  whimper- 
ing and  stood  still.  Suddenly  the  bicycle- 
lamp  cast  a  yellow  circle  of  light  on  the  road. 
The  postman  slowed  down.  The  yellow 
circle  crept  on  to  Humphrey,  who  held  his 
letter  in  an  outstretched  arm. 

"  Have  you  got  it,  postman  ?  Right-oh. 
Don't  lose  that  one  though  you  lose  all 
the  rest." 

"  Then  it's  for  your  lady-love,"  said  the 
postman,  as  he  worked  up  speed  again. 

"  Better  than  that,"  Humphrey  shouted 
after  him,  and  Lot  heard  him  give  a  little 
quiet  laugh  to  himself  as  he  strode  into 
the  yard  and  shut  the  door.  And  then  as 

267 


LOT  BARROW 

he  walked  towards  the  house-door  and, 
without  knowing  she  was  there,  came  close 
to  Lot  where  she  stood  breathlessly  still 
in  the  yard,  she  heard  him  sigh — a  long, 
troubled,  regretful  sigh.  She  knew  that 
was  for  her,  but  she  had  just  heard  him 
laugh. 

"  I'm  here,  Humphrey,"  she  said.  "  The 
light  went  out  in  the  kitchen." 

"  Did  it  ?  I  suppose  it  thought  it  might, 
as  you  were  asleep." 

"  I  never  heard  you  get  up  and  go  out," 
said  Lot.  Her  passion  of  fear  had  subsided, 
and  there  was  only  a  faint  sound  of  injury 
in  her  voice. 

"  I  crept  out  so  as  you  shouldn't,"  said 
Humphrey  gently. 

This  gave  her  a  glimpse  which  she  could 
hardly  endure  of  his  tenderness  to  his 
secondary  love. 

"I'm  ready  to  go  now,"  she  said.     "  Are 

you  ? " 

In  a  few  minutes  they  were  walking  along 
the  road  towards  the  village  lights,  with 
wet  faces,  and  their  ankles  splashed  from 
the  puddles. 

"  Of  course  you'll  get  all  kinds  of  weather 
out  there,  I  suppose  ?  "  said  Lot,  conver- 
sationally. 

"  Rather  !  "    said   Humphrey.     "  Plenty 

268 


THE  LAMP  GOES  OUT 

of  weather.  A  man  I  met  once  who'd 
been  seventeen  years  at  sea  said  he'd  never 
known  one  day  quite  like  another,  not 
exactly.  And  there's  more  weather  to 
come,  this  man  said,  and  it's  all  different." 
Humphrey  rambled  on,  pleased  with  his 
topic.  "  Of  course,  you  know,  Lot,  at  sea 
you  can't  afford  not  to  notice  the  weather ; 
well,  for  one  thing,  it's  all  round  you.  ..." 


269 


CHAPTER  THIRTY :  BREAK  OF  DAY 

GUS  SCHNEIDER  had  a  new  little 
brother.  Mrs.  Schneider  said  that 
Gus  had  set  his  heart  on  a  little  sister. 
If  so,  he  took  his  disappointment  like  a  man. 
To  the  gross  material  eye,  the  only  way  in 
which  his  feelings  appeared  to  be  involved 
was  in  a  practical  appreciation  of  certain 
unwonted  delicacies  to  be  found  in  his 
mother's  room. 

The  mother  and  child  both  being  in- 
disposed, Mr.  Schneider,  perfect  husband 
and  father,  was  distressed.  He  decided 
to  send  them  away  for  a  change.  He 
expressed  himself  in  plain  terms  as  being 
willing  to  put  down  forty  pounds  for  a 
holiday  that  would  restore  his  wife  and  the 
child  to  perfect  health.  Every  penny  of 
forty  pounds ;  and,  as  he  remarked  on 
innumerable  occasions  to  his  acquaintances 
and  friends,  that  was  practically  giving 
them  the  run  of  England.  Mrs.  Schneider, 
who  took  all  her  husband's  favours  with 
calm  security,  was  herself  obliged  to  confess 
that  he  couldn't  have  said  more. 

Having  the  run  of  England,  then,  Mrs. 

270 


BREAK  OF  DAY 

Schneider  had  made  herself  acquainted 
with  the  booklets  (illustrated  in  colour)  of 
about  a  hundred  different  bracing  resorts. 
Her  bed  was  littered  with  them.  She 
compared  one  intense  blue  sea  with  another 
intense  blue  sea,  and  the  lesser  blue  was  put 
aside.  Supposing  she  had  been  a  person 
who  liked  to  see  a  picture  of  grey  seas  with 
white  sea-gulls  flying  over  them,  she  would 
have  had  to  go  unsatisfied.  But  she  was 
not.  She  liked  them  blue  and  she  got  them 
blue. 

Perhaps  she  overdid  her  zealous  interest 
in  the  relative  merits  of  these  exploited 
resorts.  Or  perhaps  too  much  power  to  go 
where  she  wished  and  spend  what  she 
wished  (because  you  can  speak  like  that  of 
forty  pounds)  deadened  desire.  At  any 
rate,  she  decided  eventually  to  go  to  Memory 
Cottage,  where  she  knew  Mrs.  Child  and  Lot 
Barrow  were  established,  ready  to  supply 
board  and  attendance  at  a  sum  that  forty 
pounds  could  afford  to  laugh  at. 

Gus  was  reluctantly  left  at  home,  because 
Mrs.  Schneider  was  going  for  a  change ; 
and  Gus  was  a  little  boy  with  a  peculiar 
power  of  making  change  null  and  void, 
even  though  it  were  a  journey  from  here 
to  the  Antipodes.  So  he  had  to  part  with 
his  dear  little  brother,  which  he  consented 

271 


LOT  BARROW 

to  do,  bravely  concealing  his  emotion. 
Whereas  if  it  had  been  a  sister  Gus  would, 
Mrs.  Schneider  said,  never  have  let  her  go. 

In  early  December,  therefore,  Mrs. 
Schneider,  with  her  baby  and  a  nurse,  was 
at  Memory  Cottage,  attended  by  busy  Lot 
Barrow,  and  by  Mrs.  Child  who,  with  a 
sharpened  face  and  querulous  manner,  sat 
for  a  great  part  of  the  day  in  the  same  old 
chair.  The  chair  looked  strangely  alien 
in  the  new  surroundings  ;  and  the  worn 
padding  and  sunken  seat,  which  had  some- 
how seemed  unnoticeable  in  the  old  home, 
were  conspicuous  here.  The  chair  was  in 
the  kitchen,  placed  between  the  fire  and 
the  window. 

There  was  but  little  activity  for  Mrs. 
Child  to  see,  as  she  sat  by  the  hour  looking 
out  of  the  square-paned  sash  window.  A 
footpath  ran  slantways  over  the  next  field  ; 
a  few  school-children  passed  along  it  twice 
a  day,  and  a  few  labourers.  But  there  was 
no  'bus,  and  life  is  difficult  without  a  'bus 
if  you  have  been  used  to  one. 

In  fact,  Mrs.  Child  had  a  great  deal  to 
complain  of,  and  she  complained  of  it  all. 
She  grumbled  so  much,  in  a  voice  grown 
weak  and  querulous,  that  Lot  might  well 
have  lost  patience.  But  happily  Lot  was 
equal  to  the  occasion,  and  was  ready  to  tell 

272 


BREAK  OF  DAY 

anyone,  half-closing  her  eyes,  and  nodding 
her  head  in  her  confidential  way,  that  it 
was  trouble  that  made  Mrs.  Child  like  this. 

Mrs.  Schneider  had  been  only  a  few  days 
at  the  cottage  when  Humphrey  left  his 
home  to  go  to  sea.  He  had  continued  to 
stay  at  the  farm  when  Lot  and  his  mother 
had  moved  into  Lot's  cottage.  On  his  last 
morning  he  came  at  break  of  day  to  say 
good-bye  to  them. 

Lot  had  been  awake  since  the  darkest, 
coldest  hours  of  the  night,  and  though,  as 
they  passed,  the  hours  seemed  interminably 
long,  in  looking  back  they  all  seemed  like 
one.  Just  as  it  began  to  be  light  she  heard 
a  sound  outside,  and  she  leapt  out  of  bed 
and  flew  to  the  window,  with  a  wild  foolish 
fear  that  Humphrey  might  be  going  instead 
of  coming. 

She  lifted  up  the  window  and  looked  below; 
Humphrey  was  standing  there,  waiting  to  be 
let  in.  Lot  felt  the  unearthliness  of  that 
hour  of  dawn,  and  said  in  a  voice  that  toned 
with  the  gloom  and  cold  and  stillness  : 

"  Wait  a  minute,  Humphrey — just  a 
minute." 

Her  long  hair  hung  down  the  weather- 
beaten  watt.  She  continued  to  look  at  him 
for  a  moment,  and  then  drew  herself  in 
and  shut  the  window. 

273  T 


LOT  BARROW 

Mrs.  Child  was  also  astir.  Together, 
she  and  Lot  made  a  fire,  and  soon  had  tea 
and  bread  and  butter,  sitting,  with  Hum- 
phrey, round  the  table  drawn  close  to  the 
fire  in  the  kitchen.  Upstairs  Mrs.  Schneider 
sang  with  her  unexpectedly  moving  voice 
while  she  dressed.  The  words  and  the 
tune  made  Lot's  heart  ache,  as  they 
sounded  faintly  in  the  kitchen. — 

"  I  loved  you  in  life  too  little, 
I  love  you  in  death  too  well." 

After  that,  it  was  not  very  long  before 
Humphrey  walked  quietly  off,  not  to  be 
seen  again  for  years.  The  conversation, 
during  breakfast,  and  up  till  the  very  minute 
of  his  going,  consisted  of  Mrs.  Child's 
repeated  anxious  enquiries  as  to  whether 
he  had  got  this  or  that  in  his  box,  and 
his  patient  replies.  She  recapitulated  the 
several  articles  of  a  man's  clothing ;  though 
she  had  with  her  own  hand  prepared  his 
things  for  him,  she  evidently  feared  that  a 
world  of  sharpers  had  designs  upon  them. 
But  her  petty  anxieties  seemed  to  fall 
away  from  her  when  she  clasped  him  to  her 
breast,  and  called  upon  God  to  bless  him. 
He  shook  hands  with  Lot,  and  was  gone. 

Mrs.   Schneider  always  started  the  day 
274 


BREAK    OF  DAY 

with  a  good  appetite  and  fine  spirits. 
Noticing  a  gloom,  when  she  came  down,  she 
tried  to  dispel  it  by  prophesying  Humphrey's 
speedy  return. 

'  He  won't  get  drowned,"  she  said,  and 
suddenly  awakened  new  fears  in  the  other 
two  women,  whose  thoughts  had  been  fixed 
only  on  earthly  separation.  "  He'll  tire 
of  it  soon  enough ;  he'll  be  back  here 
before — before  you  can  say  Jack  Robinson." 

Like  many  other  people  who  in  their  talk 
make  use  of  the  homely  idiom,  Mrs. 
Schneider  flouted  any  lurking  suspicion 
that  what  she  said  was  already  a  little 
familiar,  by  uttering  it  with  a  refreshing 
laugh  which  seemed  to  renovate  or  recreate 
the  phrase,  and  even  to  apologise  for  saying 
something  that  was  almost  too  startlingly 
apt  for  good  taste  in  ordinary  conversation. 
So  when  she  made  the  allusion  to  Jack 
Robinson  she  laughed  as  with  the  appro- 
priateness of  having  hit  upon  an  apt  remark, 
the  authorship  of  which  she  was  willing 
to  disclaim,  however,  since  she  made  no 
pretensions  to  be  clever,  like  some  people. 

Later  in  the  day,  Mrs.  Child  went  upstairs 
while  Lot  attended  to  household  things. 
Upstairs  there  were  two  large  trunks, 
beside  which  Mrs.  Child  sometimes  sat,  and 
turned  over  clothes — hers  and  her  husband's 

275 


LOT  BARROW 

— and  photographs  and  letters.  Near  the 
bottom  of  one  of  these  trunks  she  came  upon 
a  thick  grey  vest ;  it  was  knitted,  and  made 
for  a  man  ;  and  when  Mrs.  Child  caught 
sight  of  an  edge  of  it  in  the  box,  she  snatched 
it  out  and  gazed  at  it.  Then  she  carried  it 
down  to  Lot,  muttering  to  herself  as  she 
went  with  difficulty  down  the  stairs. 

"  Well,  Lot,"  she  said,  "  what  do  you 
think  of  this  ?  "  Having  got  the  habit  of 
indulging  in  not  very  real  grievances,  she 
took  a  kind  of  deadly  pleasure  in  this 
substantial  one. 

Lot  looked  at  the  garment  held  out  by 
Mrs.  Child.  Her  eye-lids  were  reddened, 
and  in  her  hand  she  held  a  little  tight,  damp 
ball,  which  was  her  handkerchief.  She 
was  a  little  astray,  and  did  not  immediately 
recognise  the  disaster. 

"  What  is  it,  Mrs.  Child  ?  "  she  asked, 
weakly,  feeling  a  kind  of  nervous  disability 
to  grasp  facts. 

"It's  only  Humphrey's  new  warm  vest," 
said  Mrs.  Child,  bitingly. 

Lot  was  duly  roused. 

"  Oh,  dear,  however  could  he  have  come 
to  leave  that  behind  ?  " 

"  For  the  reason  that  it  was  in  my  box,'* 
said  Mrs.  Child,  with  her  grim  satisfaction. 
"  And  if  you  ask  me  how  it  got  there,"  she 

276 


BREAK  OF  DAY 

went  on,  disclaiming  responsibility,  "  I 
shan't  be  able  to  give  you  an  answer.  I 
suppose  it  was  put  there  by  somebody 
who  likes  other  people  to  go  about  cold. 
Well,  so  he  mil  go  about  cold." 

"  He'll  catch  his  death,"  said  Lot.  A 
wave  of  colour  came  over  her  face.  "  Mrs. 
Child,  shall  I  go  after  him  with  it  ?  " 

Now  Mrs.  Child  was  accustomed  to  be 
humoured  by  Lot.  In  all  her  grumblings 
she  knew  she  could  count  on  something 
willing  and  unresentful  in  Lot  to  respond 
and  condole.  After  all  vicissitudes,  that 
was  their  relation  together.  Because  Mrs. 
Child  had  become  petty  with  her  grief,  as 
so  many  people  do  ;  and  Lot  was  merciful 
and  kind  and  motherly. 

But  when  Lot  suggested  going  after 
Humphrey — a  journey  of  twenty  miles  to 
the  sea-port — even  Mrs.  Child  felt  that  here 
was  compliance  carried  a  little  too  far. 
She  even  felt  a  touch  of  shame — poor 
innocent-guilty  thing  that  she  was — for  all 
her  perversity  and  pettish  misery,  and  her 
shame  softened  her  expression  as  she  looked 
at  Lot. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  there  isn't  any  cause 
for  you  to  go  as  far  as  that.  It  won't 
make  such  a  wonderful  difference  if  we 
send  it  after  him.  Only  he  won't  have  a 

277 


LOT  BARROW 

change,  not  if  he  gets  wet  through  before 
he  gets  to  port." 

'  I  wouldn't  mind  going  a  bit — really  I 
wouldn't,"  said  Lot,  her  face  still  a  bright 
red.  "It's  no  trouble,  really.  I  could 
walk  down  to  the  station  and  get  the  next 
train.  Really  I  shouldn't  mind,  and  then 
he  wouldn't  catch  cold."  Lot  changed 
her  tactics.  "  Mrs.  Child,  may  I  go  ?  I 
should  like  to  say  good-bye  to  him  again. 
There's  something  I  forgot  to  say  to  him." 

Mrs.  Child  looked  at  her  in  slow  per- 
plexity. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  can  have  to  say 
to  him.  I  heard  you  say  good-bye  all  right." 

"  Yes,  I  did  say  good-bye,"  Lot  conceded, 
and  though  she  spoke  reasonably  she 
trembled  now  in  her  suspense.  "  But 
there's  something  I  quite  meant  to  tell  him. 
I  don't  know  how  I  came  not  to  mention  it. 
I  suppose  it  went  out  of  my  head." 

"  Well,  don't  ask  me,"  said  Mrs.  Child, 
more  normal  now.  "  There  isn't  a  person 
now  on  this  earth  as  need  ask  my  per- 
mission for  anything." 

"I  do  think  I'll  go,  then,"  said  Lot, 
timidly,  though  there  was  a  mountain  of 
resolve  in  her  heart.  "  I  think  I'll  go  off 
at  once,  if  you  can  manage,  Mrs.  Child. 
I  may  just  have  some  luck  with  the  trains." 

278 


BREAK  OF  DAY 

She  looked  so  big,  and  had  such  a  serious, 
imperious  look,  that  it  would  not  have  been 
difficult  to  imagine  trains  waiting  at  her 
bidding. 


279 


CHAPTER  THIRTY-ONE:  LOT  LOOKS 
OUT  OF  THE  WINDOW 

IOT  should  have  sat  in  her  train  until 
^  it  carried  her  right  into  the  docks 
among  the  brown  masts  of  ships.  But  in 
her  ignorance  she  got  out  at  the  town 
station  and  found  herself  in  the  streets, 
where  there  seemed  to  be  a  very  poor 
prospect  of  discovering  a  sea-faring  man. 

She  was  so  striking  a  figure,  though 
clothed  in  her  plain  woollen  dress  of  every 
day,  that  the  couple  of  whom  she  made 
enquiries  turned  and  watched  her  out  of 
sight.  They  had,  however,  served  the 
more  useful  purpose  of  discovering  her 
mistake  to  her,  and  setting  her  upon  her 
road. 

She  had  nearly  two  miles  to  walk,  and 
she  blamed  herself  (though  she  blamed 
herself  now,  as  always,  with  a  certain 
reserve  of  indulgence  and  excuse)  for  her 
stupidity.  She  was  on  her  own  side  of  the 
county,  she  had  even  passed  close  to  her 
own  village  in  the  train  ;  and,  now  that  it 
was  too  late,  she  remembered  that  years  ago 
she  had  been  to  this  town  before,  and  had 

280 


LOT  LOOKS  OUT  OF  THE  WINDOW 

known  then  of  its  separateness  from  the  docks. 
'  But  it's  enough  to  drive  one  silly,"  she 
thought,  in  excuse  for  herself,  "  with  all  the 
trouble  and  worry  I've  passed  through." 

When  she  had  gone  a  mile  she  came  to  an 
inn,  and  with  a  certain  indifference  born  of 
her  suspense  and  anxiety,  she  hurried  into 
the  bar,  to  have  it  confirmed  that  she  was 
on  the  right  road.  No  one  was  drinking 
there,  but  a  young  man  stood  ready  to 
serve  who  might  come. 

"  I  want  to  get  down  to  where  the  Arethusa 
starts,"  said  Lot.  "  Am  I  going  right  ?  " 

The  young  man  stared  at  her  for  a  moment 
and  said : 

"  Well !     If  it  isn't  Lot  Barrow  !  " 

Lot  recognised  a  fellow-villager,  who  in 
a  year  had  changed  from  a  boy  into  a  man. 
She  was  startled  by  this  unexpected  contact 
with  the  past,  and  felt  some  inward  resent- 
ment against  him.  And  then  she  blushed 
deeply,  in  the  old  habit  of  shame,  to  think 
that  he  knew  all  about  her. 

"  Hallo,  Tom,"  she  said.  "  So  you've 
come  over  here.  I'm  in  a  dreadful  hurry. 
I've  got  a  message  for  someone  who's 
going  on  that  boat." 

He  took  out  his  watch,  which  looked  new. 
He  compared  it  rather  ostentatiously  with 
the  clock  in  the  bar. 

281 


LOT  BARROW 

"  I  don't  know  that  you've  got  too  much 
time  before  they  start,"  he  said. 

She  paled  again,  in  her  passion  of  sus- 
pense. 

"  Am  I  right  ?     Do  I  go  straight  ?  " 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Lot  Barrow,"  he  said, 
as  he  came  with  her  to  the  door  ;  "  anyone 
else  might  miss  it,  but  all  you've  got  to  do 
is  to  run  for  it ;  you  run  the  same  as  you 
used  to  run  over  the  hills.  Don't  I  remem- 
ber you  !  Yes,  go  straight  on.  Do  you 
know  the  Sailors'  Home  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Well,  you  turn  round  by  there,"  he  said, 
as  people  will. 

"  I'll  run,  but  I  never  run  now  the  same 
as  I  used  to,"  she  said,  looking  very  sad. 
"  I  suppose  I'm  getting  old.  I  feel  such 
years  older  than  I  did  over  there."  She 
nodded  her  head  backwards  towards  their 
village.  "  Good-bye,  Tom." 

But  she  ran.  She  ran  with  that  deadly 
pain  of  suspense  affecting  all  her  body,  so 
that  her  limbs  ached  too. 

She  soon  heard  shouts  behind  her,  but 
she  thought  she  was  being  mocked  at,  and 
she  did  not  heed  them,  and  went  straight 
on.  But  soon  she  stopped  dead,  and  turned 
round.  She  had  heard  her  name,  and  she 
knew  the  voice. 

282 


LOT  LOOKS  OUT  OF  THE  WINDOW 

Two  men  were  pursuing  her,  and  one  of 
them  was  Humphrey.  Lot  continued  to 
stand  quite  still  in  her  surprise  ;  the  world 
seemed  turned  upside  down.  She  had  been 
pursuing  Humphrey  so  fast,  with  a  dreadful 
vision  of  him  already  gliding  away  from  her 
on  the  separating  water ;  and  now  he  was 
behind  her. 

The  strange  man  slackened  speed,  but 

Humphrey  ran  on  until  he  was  close  to  her. 

'  Lot !  "  he  said,  "  is  anything  wrong  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  said;  "  I  came  to  bring  you 

something — your  other  grey  vest.     But  I've 

been  and  forgotten  it." 

He  looked  amazed.  But  he  only  asked 
her  a  little  thing. 

"  Why  were  you  hurrying  so  ?  " 
"  They  told  me  I  shouldn't  catch  you." 
"  We  don't  go  for  three  hours." 
"  I   can't  help  that,"   she  said,   almost 
tearfully,    as   if   she    were   being   scolded. 
"  They  told  me  you  were  going  at  once." 

"  Oh,  we  were  to  have  gone  earlier,"  he 
said  rather  absent-mindedly,  while  he  still 
looked  at  her  with  a  deep  questioning. 
"  That  was  changed.  Lot,  darling  Lot, 
what  brought  you  ? 

"  I'll  tell  you,"  she  said.  "  Only  this 
man  is  coming." 

"  I've  been  walking  round  with  him,  to 

283 


LOT  BARROW 

kill  the  time.  It  was  so  hard  to  wait 
another  three  hours.  I'll  leave  him  now.  .  . 
I'll  see  you  later,"  he  called. 

"  Right,"  said  the  stranger,  turning  away. 
"  Don't  be  late  !  " 

"  You  can  trust  not !  "  said  Humphrey, 
and  he  and  Lot  began  to  walk  back,  Lot 
feeling  for  a  moment  a  kind  of  sickening 
misery  that  she  had  come  at  all. 

They  went  to  the  inn  where  Lot  had  so 
lately  been,  and  where  Tom  accommodated 
them  with  a  little  wooden  room,  in  which 
they  could  sit  and  talk. 

"  I  won't  make  you  late,"  said  Lot 
timidly.  "  Indeed  I'll  only  be  here  for  a  few 
minutes,  and  then  I'll  go  and  catch  a  train 
back." 

"  I  can't  help  thinking  there's  something 
wrong,  for  you  to  have  come  all  this  way," 
said  Humphrey,  still  questioning  her.  "  If 
anything  was  to  stop  me  now,  I — I'd  never 
believe  in  God  or  anything  again." 

"  You  put  that  out  of  your  head,"  said 
Lot,  with  a  kind  of  divine  indulgence  for 
him.  "  Nothing's  going  to  stop  you  now. 
What  I  want  to  say  hasn't  got  anything  to 
do  with  stopping  you." 

"Well,  tell  me." 

"  I  was  so  unhappy  when  you  left.  It 
seemed  as  if  I  only  wanted  to  die.  It  isn't 

284 


LOT  LOOKS  OUT  OF  THE  WINDOW 

true  what  he  used  to  say — I  mean  Mr. 
Bravery." 

"  Are  you  still  grieving  after  him  ?  " 
asked  Humphrey. 

"  No,"  said  Lot ;  "  that  isn't  it,"  She 
was  going  through  the  ordeal  of  acting  on 
the  demands  of  an  impulse  when  that 
impulse  itself  has  long  been  cold.  Her 
words  were  difficult  to  find ;  and  in  the 
pain  of  that  vanished  impulse  it  was  almost 
coldly  that  she  said  : 

"  It  seemed  terrible  that  you  had  gone 
so  far  when  I  hadn't  told  you  how  I  loved 

you." 

'  You  love  me,  Lot  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  almost  petulantly  in  her 
unhappiness  ;  "I've  told  you  I  do." 

He  touched  her  hand  and  gradually  took 
her  into  his  arms.  She  cried  there,  as  she 
clasped  his  broadness  and  his  strength, 
because  he  was  very  precious  to  her. 

"  I  will  come  back  to  you,  my  little 
darling,"  he  said.  "  I  will  come  back  some 
day." 

Lot  loosened  herself  and  turned  to  the 
window. 

"  My  life  !  "  she  said  in  her  low  thrilling 
voice.  She  turned  away  from  him  just 
when  her  love  was  finding  its  most  intense 
expression.  When  she  said  "My  lif e  !  " 

285 


LOT  BARROW 

she  looked,  not  at  him,  but  out  through  the 
window  at  the  cold,  bleak  highway.  It  was 
as  if  her  love  was  something  between  herself 
and  her  own  heart  more  than  something 
between  herself  and  him. 

As  she  went  home  in  the  train  Lot  kept 
up  a  kind  of  soliloquy  which  was  addressed 
to  Humphrey,  but  she  was  not  dismayed 
that  he  was  not  there  to  hear.  It  was  half- 
maternal  and  it  was  placid  ;  it  was  com- 
posed in  a  brain  that  was  a  little  numbed, 
but  not  suffering  by  any  means. 

"  Now  this  is  your  first  day,  my  boy," 
she  said ;  "  make  the  most  of  it.  There 
will  be  a  fine  lot  of  days  for  you — yes,  a 
fine  lot,  but  a  day  will  come  which  will  be 
the  last. 

"  You  looked  a  little  pale  and  worried, 
but  you  will  soon  forget  all  about  that 
when  you  have  started,  and  the  waves  are 
underneath  you.  You  will  like  the  first 
night,  and  waking  up  in  the  morning. 

"  I  wonder  if  they  have  put  enough  on 
your  bed.  Have  your  overcoat  lying  at 
the  foot,  my  darling  boy,  so  that  you  can 
pull  it  over  .  .  .  ' 

THE  END. 
286 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
Thi«*ook  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 

rp  x  d 


Form  L9-Series  4939 


A     000127414     1 


